


Draco Malfoy and Why in Merlin's Name is it ALWAYS Harry?!

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: Do It All Over Again [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Like lots of it, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Draco Malfoy, Puberty, Series Retold, Time Travel, but you knew that, dramatic Draco, romantic awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: When Draco's mother had told him about the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts, he'd pictured a fun year of following the action with his friends from the safety of the stands. He hadnotexpected that Harry would be forced to participate, but maybe he should have. Things always happened to Harry, did they not?





	1. The Quidditch World Cup

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, my precious readers! I hope you are as excited about Draco's fourth year as I am! The fourth book is my favourite book, and I have been waiting to write it for ages. Also, as you can see in the tags, it's going to be very important for the development of the story, and I'm so happy that we finally reached the first big turning point in this series. 
> 
> Now, before I give anything away in my excitement, please enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think :D

“For the last time, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy bellowed, looking up from the letter he was attempting to write. “We will not go mingle with these - these  _ Mudbloods _ and  _ Blood Traitors,  _ dressing like  _ Muggles _ so the Ministry can control the scum that’s owning this pathetic excuse of land.”

“Who’s asking  _ you _ along?!,” Draco spat, his face flushed in fury. “I was merely  _ informing _ you that I’ll be going to meet my  _ friends  _ and-”

“You will not!” his father shouted. “If you put only a toe on this filthy camping area I swear to Salazar-”

“I don’t need your permission!” Draco yelled back. “You have lost all authority to give me orders when you tried to kill off my friends with that bloody diary two years ago!”

“I am your father and you will listen to what I say!” Lucius boomed, getting to his feet and glaring down at his son. “Or you will stay at home and there will be no Quidditch World Cup for you!”

“And what will you tell the Minister for Magic when he asks where you left your son?” Draco demanded with a nasty smirk. “Will you tell him you grounded him because he went to see his best friend, who happens to be the Boy Who Lived?! Please do, I’d love to see how that goes down.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you ungrateful-”

“Oh please,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Spare me the drama. I heard this line about a thousand times and it has lost its intended effect several years ago.”

“I should have sent you to Durmstrang the moment you started spending time with the Potter boy,” his father sneered. “The influence these brats are having on you-”

“Is far superior to yours,” Draco interrupted him, glowering. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to answer my friends and confirm the time and place of our meeting.”

“I mean it, Draco. I won’t take you to the match if you go.”

“Then I’ll ask Weasley if his father has one more ticket to spare,” Draco shrugged, grinning at him. “Choose your poison, Father.”

With that, he whirled around and left the room. His father was spluttering behind him, getting ready to yell some more, but before could get the words out, Draco had already slammed the door shut behind him.

The sudden silence of the corridor was grounding, and Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. The soft voice of his mother came from the open door of the nearby drawing room and filtered through the anger that was clouding his mind.

“Darling, is it really necessary to shout like that so early in the morning? It scares the elves.”

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as he slipped into the room, closing the door behind himself. His mother was sitting in her favourite armchair near the window, overlooking the gardens and sipping on her cup of tea. She barely looked up when he crossed the room to take a seat on the largest sofa of the three-piece suit near the door. 

“He’s driving me insane!” Draco groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. It had grown out slightly over the summer and he was determined to keep it that way, if only because his father kept turning his nose at it. “How do you stand living with him permanently?! It’s been only two months and I’m ready to throw him out of the window and right into that fountain he loves so much, in the hope that he’ll be speared by the wand of whichever ancestor’s monument is placed in its centre.”

“I manage to live in peace at this house because I know to pick my battles,” Narcissa sniffed, turning her head and raising one eyebrow at her son. “I won’t give your father the satisfaction of discussing every detail with him, and therefore, I keep the fights to a minimum. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Well, he’d have noticed if I’d just run off to meet my friends without telling anyone,” Draco pointed out petulantly. “It’s not like it could have stayed a secret.”

“No, but he would not have realised until it was too late, and he couldn’t have made a scene about it at the stadium, with so many high ranking Ministry officials around,” his mother told him, in that tone of voice that always made Draco feel five years old again. “You still have a lot to learn, my little Dragon.”

“Well, I hate this,” Draco grumbled. “Why do I always have to justify myself when I want to go out and meet my friends?! You’d think he’d have resigned himself to the situation after three years.”

“You can’t change him, Draco,” his mother sighed, eyeing him wearily. “You’ll just have to accept the situation as it is and deal with it until you are off age. I will try to keep him in check as much as I can until then, but you have to work with me here.”

“I know, I know,” Draco sighed, pursing his lips. “But I  _ am _ going to go and meet my friends before the match. I don’t care what he says.”

“And I’m not going to waste my energy trying to stop you,” she replied, sending him a small smile. “On the contrary. I went out of my way to get hold of a portkey for you. I had the elves bring it up to your room, together with your ticket. It will leave tomorrow at half past seven, before your father will even have come down for breakfast. Now go and let your friends know.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco chuckled, getting to his feet. On a whim, he crossed the room until he was standing at his mother’s side, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“What was that for?” she asked, eyes bright with amusement and fondness.

“Nothing, really,” Draco shrugged sheepishly. “Just, thank you for being you. I guess.”

“Is it Harry Potter’s influence that makes you so emotional and ineloquent?” she teased, but her smile was pleased and happy. “Now, off you go.”

“Okay, okay,” Draco laughed, stepping back and leaving the room. He passed one of their house elves on the way out, who squeaked an excited greeting at him - ever since the Dobby incident, the elves had been much warmer towards him - and promised to bring some mince pies up for tea later. Draco smiled at her and made his way back to his room, feeling much more cheerful.

Once he had closed the door behind himself, his eyes fell immediately on the old, tattered handkerchief that had been strategically placed on the coffee table, next to a shiny golden ticket for the top box of the Quidditch World Cup Final 1994. He hummed and crossed the room, picking up Harry’s letter from where he had left it lying on his bed, smiling as he reread it.

_ Dear Draco, _

_ I arrived more or less safely at the Burrow. There’s been a situation with Dudley and a candy the twins designed, but thanks to Mr Weasley’s damage control, no one has suffered any lasting damage. And on the bright side, they won’t want me back at their place anytime soon. I will tell you all about it when we see each other tomorrow.  _

_ Ron told me to tell you that we’ll arrive early in the morning, so whenever you want to join us is fine. Just tell us the time and place and we’ll come to pick you up. _

_ Looking forward to seeing you!! _

_ Harry _

Draco walked over to sit at his desk, picking up a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. Aquila landed on his shoulder with a soft hooting sound, nuzzling his cheek affectionately as he scribbled down his response.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ my portkey arrives tomorrow at 7:30 AM, so it would be great if you could pick me up at the arrival area then. Mother has already given me my ticket, so I will be able to enter with you.  _

_ As for your cousin, I’m thrilled to hear he got tormented the way he deserves. Kudos to Fred and George. I am looking forward to the whole story.  _

_ Can’t wait till tomorrow!! Tell Hermione and Weasley I said hello! _

_ Draco _

He read his words over once before nodding decisively and rolling up the parchment. He sealed it with the family seal and handed it over to Aquila. 

“Say Hi to Hedwig and the tiny nuisance for me,” he told him, and the owl made a whistling sound before taking off through the open window. Draco stretched and watched him fly into the horizon, an excited smile on his lips.

 

“Half past seven from Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire,” a voice announced as Draco arrived the next day, still unbalanced from the rough portkey travel. A bored-looking Ministry official stepped up to him to take the battered handkerchief from his hands. “Welcome, Mr Malfoy,” he said, eyeing him speculatively for a moment before looking back to his colleague, who was standing a few feet away, clipboard in hand. “I did not know the Malfoys reserved a spot?”

“We did not,” Draco said hastily. “I’m just here to meet-”

“Draco!” Hermione called, and Draco whirled around to spot her hurrying ahead towards the portkey arrival area, waving. Harry and Weasley were at her heels.

“Hi!” Draco grinned and stepped away from the grumpy Ministry workers to envelop her in a tight hug. 

“It’s so good to see you!” she said as she pulled away, looking him up and down once. “And the Muggle clothes suit you! I don’t know what you were worried about!”

“You think so?” Draco asked, a little self-consciously. “It doesn’t look weird? Did I get the outfit right?”

“You look like you stepped right out of a Muggle fashion magazine,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget how posh you are.”

“Oh, shut it,” Draco snorted, wrapping Harry up in a tight embrace. “Not everyone wears out the hand-me-downs of their cousins even though they have a shitload of gold in their vaults!”

“Hey, these aren’t Dudleys!” Harry frowned at him as he let go, looking down at himself. And indeed, the shirt he was wearing today hugged his skinny frame comfortably, and the jeans had no holes. “You gave them to me for my birthday, remember?”

“Right, now that you say it,” he grinned. “You don’t know how much of an adventure shopping for these was. Mother will never get used to casual Muggle wear. I had to negotiate for clothes you’d actually want to wear for almost an hour!”

“Well, thank you,” Harry laughed. “It’s nice to have something actually my size. Also, a big thanks for all the food packages over the summer! They saved my life!”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco shrugged. “You should have seen the elves’ reactions when I told them to make something to send to you. They almost fell over each other in enthusiasm.”

“Come on, let’s get back to the tent,” Weasley demanded, scowling into space. “I still want to buy some merchandise before the game starts.”

It was only then that Draco remembered that money and shabby clothes were a touchy subject for Weasley. He exchanged a look with Hermione, but she just shrugged and made a face before changing the subject.

“So, your father did not try to stop you from meeting us?” she asked.

“Of course he did,” Draco snorted. “But I’m not going to let him dictate my life anymore. If I want to go meet my friends, I’ll do it. I’m not a child anymore.”

“You’re not exactly an adult, either, though,” Hermione smiled. “Won’t you get in trouble if you provoke him like that?”

“Who cares,” Draco shrugged. “Sirius left his parental home with sixteen. I would just follow the family tradition, in a way. Speaking of Sirius,” Draco said, turning to Harry. “Did you hear from him lately?”

“I did,” Harry smiled. “He seems to be doing well. His letters keep arriving through tropical birds so I’d say he’s hiding somewhere far, far away.”

“That’s good to hear,” Draco returned, nodding approvingly. “He deserves some holiday.”

“He does,” Harry agreed. 

When they arrived at the tent the Weasley family had obtained for the occasion, Arthur Weasley and what appeared to be all or most of his children (Draco had no idea how much they actually were) were sitting around a fire, trying to cook sausages on it.

“Draco!” Arthur Weasley called heartily when he caught sight of him, getting up to shake his hand. “Good to see you, boy!”

“Good to see you, too, Mr Weasley,” Draco replied, trying to keep his smile natural. The Weasleys, despite having taken quite a liking to him after he had saved Ginny from the Dark Lord’s diary back in his second year, always made him slightly nervous. “I hope I’m not intruding?”

“Oh, not at all!” the man waved him off. “You’re always welcome with us! So don’t worry and take a seat. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” he nodded, taking a seat between Harry and Hermione, who had already pierced up a sausage and handed it to him. 

“Hi Draco!” the twins cheered in unison. “Had a good summer?”

“It was alright,” Draco shrugged. “Time spent under Father’s roof is never quite enjoyable, but what can you do.”

“Yeah, well,” George said, making a face. When the two redheads on his other side, both of who Draco had not met yet, looked at him enquiringly, he explained: “This is Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy.”

“Oh,” said the first one, broad-shouldered and short-haired,  grimacing as he reached his hand out to Draco. “That’s tough luck, mate. I’m Charlie.”

“You’re the one working with dragons, right?” Draco asked, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

“I am,” he smiled. “I just came over for the match, as did Bill here.”

“Bill Weasley,” the man next to him shook Draco’s hand, too, and Draco almost faltered in his movement when he took him in properly: he had a somewhat daredevil look to him, with his long hair tied back to a ponytail and clothes made of dragon-leather. Draco was not sure if he was supposed to be appalled or awed. He knew his parents would condemn this kind of look.

“You’re the Curse Breaker, right?” Draco checked. “Weasley - I mean Ron-” the first name rolled stiffly off his tongue, feeling unnatural. “-spoke about you.”

“I see,” Bill nodded. “And yes, that’s me.”

“Good to see you again, Draco,” Percy said importantly from next to Arthur Weasley, moving to shake Draco’s hand as well. 

“Hello Percy,” Draco said. “Congrats on your Ministry job. I heard about it at home.” He did not mention that his father had complained about “another Weasley brat” being employed by the Ministry on top of his lungs. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he boomed, sitting a little straighter in obvious pride, and Draco remembered why he had never liked that one. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Bill cut him off with a pleading: “Please, Perce, spare us the talk about cauldrons. It has been such a nice five minutes.”

He exchanged a look with Hermione at that, and the way she bit her lip to suppress her laughter told him all he needed to know. His eyes caught Ginny’s for a moment, who was seated between her and Percy, but the youngest Weasley immediately averted her gaze, flushing slightly. Draco politely ignored her moment and turned back towards the other. Ever since the whole Chamber business, she had been almost as shy around Draco as she was around Harry, though Draco did really not understand what  _ he _ had done to deserve any kind of hero worship. It made him uncomfortable to think about it, so he just tried to pretend he did not notice, for the most part.

“Are your parents coming to the match, too, Draco?” Fred asked, and Draco gratefully turned his attention back to the twins. 

“Sadly, yes,” he nodded. “Father would never miss an opportunity like this to show off how influential he is. We’re there on personal invitation of the Minister of Magic.” Draco screwed up his nose to express his thoughts on that matter. “I already apologise for everything he’ll say or do later. He’ll be furious enough when he realises I ignored his orders and went to meet you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” George said, rolling his eyes when Percy jumped up from his seat to shake the hand of a passing Ministry official, acting more important than he probably was. “You can’t choose your family, after all.”

 

As the afternoon dragged on, the atmosphere on the campsite became noticeably charged with magic and excitement. Salesmen apparated left and right with trays and carts of merchandise, and Draco, Harry, Hermione and Weasley took a stroll down the pathways to see what was on offer. Weasley bought a ton of nicknacks, most of them to show his support for Ireland, but they dove into a pleasant conversation when he purchased a figurine of Viktor Krum, who he seemed to admire just as much as Draco did. Not that this was surprising, of course. Krum was an exceptional talent, and Draco was looking forward to seeing him in the flesh more than anything else today. Which was exactly why the only thing _he_ purchased was a scarf in Bulgarian red and black, with Krum’s name on it. He did end up with a pair of Omnioculars as well, though, which Harry acquired for all of them and gave them as a present. 

When they made their way towards the stadium, the sun had started to set and green lanterns were lighting the way through the woods. Harry was as cheerful as Draco had never seen him before, and it made Draco feel just as excited. He made a mental note to take Harry to a Quidditch League match sometime in the future. With how passionate he was about Quidditch, it felt simply  _ wrong _ knowing that this was the first professional match the boy had ever experienced. 

When they finally reached the stadium, even Draco was impressed by the sheer size of it. He listened with one ear as Mr Weasley explained to Harry the construction process, but a bigger part of him was tensing up as he kept his eyes open, looking out for any sign of his parents. Mr Weasley had (quite to Draco’s surprise, he had to admit) procured seats in the top box, just like his own father had, and the thought of the two of them running into each other made Draco feel sick. Their last encounter was still fresh in his mind.

As they reached the secluded VIP area, though, it was all but empty, their only company being Mr Crouch’s house elf, who Harry dove right into a conversation with. He zoomed in every now and then, especially when she told Harry about Dobby demanding payment for his work now, but mostly, he kept glancing over at the entranceway. The box was now slowly starting to fill with Ministry officials of high ranks, most of which Draco had met at one social event or another and exchanged polite greetings with. When the Minister of Magic appeared, he was busy hosting the Bulgarian delegation, but he took a moment to greet both Harry and Draco. 

“Always together, aren’t you?” he smiled fondly, the events at the end of the last school year mere weeks ago apparently forgotten. “I saw your parents on the way here, and when you were not with them, I wondered if you weren't out and about somewhere with Harry… Ah, here they are! Lucius!”

Draco froze, and slowly turned to see his parents making their way through the second row, to the empty seats right behind them. His mother was smiling at him, but his father’s expression was stony, and his eyes only grazed over his son’s face for a moment before they jumped straight to Fudge, and his bright business-smile spread over his face.

“Ah, Fudge,” he said, reaching out to shake the Minister’s hand. “How are you? I see you already found my son?”

“Indeed, I did,” Fudge nodded. “Such a pleasant boy you have, Lucius. And keeping such good company, too. I see your influence.”

Draco would have snorted if he had not been raised better than that, but he could see his father’s smile tightening at Fudge’s words, and it made up for the horrible misjudgement the Minister had made. 

“Yes, we’re very pleased with him,” his father replied, his voice not showing a trace of annoyance, not that Draco had expected it to. “Did you know he’s top of his year? We have high hopes for his future.”

“I’m not, actually,” Draco correctly immediately, placing his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, who stood next to him like a unicorn caught at wandpoint. “Hermione here reached a higher total in the end-of-term examinations.”

“So modest,” Fudge called in delight, and it took all of his self-control for Draco not to snap at his disregard for his Muggleborn friend. “I can see why you’re so fond of him, Lucius!”

_ Fond my arse _ , Draco thought to himself.  _ He just pretends to be whenever it’s convenient for him. _

“He is our pride,” his father confirmed, and out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Harry’s fingers balling into a fist. “Now, will you please come and sit with us, Draco?”

“Oh, why don’t you let him stay with his friends, Lucius,” his mother inserted herself into the conversation smoothly. “What kind of fourteen-year-old prefers the company of his parents to that of his peers? Mr Fudge,” she continued, stretching out her hand to shake that of the Minister. “It’s been too long.”

Draco could not suppress his smile this time, so he discreetly turned away from the conversation and looked out over the field. Narcissa Malfoy truly was an artist when it came to social interactions. No one could hold a candle to her.

“I hate your father,” Harry muttered under his breath, turning away as well. “He’s such a two-faced git.”

“Of course he is,” Draco breathed. “He can hardly express his displeasure with our friendship and my defiance of his wishes when you’re so obviously in the Minister’s favour. But knowing how much he is raging inside right now is enough satisfaction for me.”

“You’re easy to please, then,” Harry grumbled, his expression dark.

“No, I’m just realistic,” Draco shrugged. “I know that I can’t right all the wrongs in the world, no matter how hard I try. You’ve never been able to accept that.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to accept it,” Harry pointed out.

“I know,” Draco chuckled, smiling at him. “Your sense for justice is too strong for that. But that’s what makes you the frustrating hero figure you are.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry hissed, flushing slightly.

“Fine,” Draco snorted, grinning. “I’ll leave that to everyone else, then.”

Harry elbowed him in response, and Draco retaliated in the same manner.

 

When Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, made an appearance only minutes later, he cast a voice amplifying charm on himself and took his place as host and commentator. 

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!” his voice boomed through the stadium. “Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” Draco exchanged an excited grin with Harry before they joined into the ear-deafening applause. “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!”

“I wonder what they’ve brought?” Arthur Weasley said, from next to Ron Weasley on Harry’s other side. “Aaah!” he suddenly called, ripping his glasses from his nose and polishing them hastily to get a better sight. “ _ Veela! _ ”

“What are Veel-” Harry began to say, but he stopped talking abruptly when a group of what appeared to be hundreds of some of the most beautiful women in existence glided onto the field and started dancing. 

“Their semi-magical humanoids,” Draco explained to Harry absentmindedly. “They are said to have very seductive powers that can put wizards into a kind of daze… Harry?”

Draco looked over to his best friend when he registered movement, and saw that Harry, with a strangely empty look in his face, seemed to be attempting to climb up the restrictive wall in front of them. Draco grabbed Harry’s arm immediately, holding him back.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?!” he demanded, and his voice seemed to shake Harry from his trance. He turned his head to look at Draco, blinking rapidly. Next to Harry, Weasley had frozen in what looked like an attempt to jump from his seat and onto the field. 

“ _ Honestly _ ,” Hermione snapped from next to Draco. “Sit down, will you?!”

Draco pulled at Harry’s arm, and finally, he obeyed, albeit he was still highly confused. Next to him, Weasley was picking at his clover-green Ireland hat, appearing puzzled as to why he was wearing this monstrosity (not that Draco could blame him for that). His father took it from his hands with an amused expression.

“You’ll be wanting that,” he said. “once Ireland have had their say.”

“And now,” called Bagman. “kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

Next thing Draco knew, a ball of green was circling the pitch, and Draco picked up his Omnioculars, zooming until he was able to make out the little kobold-like creatures that made up the swarm. 

“Leprechauns,” he told them as the creatures created a rainbow that spun from one side of the field to the other, and Hermione ‘ohhhh’-ed in understanding. They then soared over the stands and let gold rain from the sky, much to the enthusiasm from the crowd. Draco caught one of the magical coins, examining it in amusement.

“Excellent!” Weasley called, trying to catch as many coins as possible in his hat. 

“They’re fake, Weasley,” Draco informed him, making the other boy freeze in his movements. “They’ll disappear after a couple of hours. Unless you plan on scamming anyone with it, I wouldn’t bother.”

Weasley glared at him, as if it was his fault that the gold wasn’t real, and sat back down with a huff. 

When the Leprechauns had settled in their places on the pitch, opposite from the Veela, Bagman continued: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome  - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograv!” The players were zooming out onto the field as their names were called, and the crowd cheered. “Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!”

The noise picked up in volume, and Draco joined in before picking up his Omnioculars again, watching Krum fly across the pitch. He had seen his pictures, of course, but there was something about seeing him up in the air with his own eyes that made Draco feel almost giddy. 

“And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!” called Bagman. “Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand - Lynch!”

As the players each sped onto the field, he tried to zoom in on each of them, taking in their faces. Some of the Irish players he had seen in League matches against the Falcons, so his eyes soon returned to Krum, finding him much more fascinating than anyone else on the field.

After the referee had entered the field and released the balls into the air, he opened the match with a loud blast of his whistle, and the players were off at a breathtaking speed. The pace of the match was quicker than anything he had ever seen, even in top matches of the League, and it took all his concentration to keep his eyes on the Quaffle as the Irish Chasers attacked the Bulgarian defence. Soon Troy had scored the first goal (which Harry had missed, having switched his own Omnioculars to slow-motion) and the Leprechauns were celebrating on their side of the pitch, forming a great, glittering shamrock up in the air. 

The match continued in that manner for a while, until Ireland was leading by thirty points and the Bulgarian players got frustrated enough to use brute force. Weasley was complaining on top of his lungs at every foul the Bulgarians committed, and Draco shot back a comment or two to heat up the atmosphere, enjoying himself immensely. He had never watched a match with his friends just like this, without having to worry about the position of his own team in the house championship or any kind of pressure behind it at all; just for the fun of the game.

Despite Bulgaria’s best attempts at catching up, Ireland was soon hopelessly in the lead, enough for the enraged Veela’s to attempt influencing the match through seducing the referee, which both Draco and Hermione found highly amusing. The match of real interest, though, at least to Draco, was carried out between the two Seekers. Krum, quite unsurprisingly, was highly superior to Lynch both in skill and strategy, so not only did he outfly Lynch more than once, but he also made Lynch crash right into the ground by means of the Wronski Feint not long into the match, almost taking him out.

When Krum ended up catching the Snitch, though, it was not enough to win Bulgaria the cup. Ireland had already been leading with one hundred and sixty points, and Krum must have realised that his team had no hopes of catching up, ending the match before they received even more of a hammering. The catch was spectacular, too, and enough to crash Lynch into the ground once more in his futile attempt to keep up with him. Even Hermione, who’d never been very adept at Quidditch, seemed impressed by Krum, and if that was no proof of the Seeker’s brilliance, Draco didn’t know what was.

The awarding was carried out by Fudge in the top box, right in front their noses, and Draco had to call on all the dignified behaviour his parents had bred into him to not appear like a complete freakish fanboy (or like Weasley) when the players filed into the box, receiving their honours. He did watch Krum closely, though, despite the fact that his aura was much less impressive on the ground. He was less graceful, somehow, and obviously downcast by their loss, not that Draco could blame him for it. Still, he was in close proximity to the best Seeker in the world, and he wanted to imprint the moment in his memory.

As the Irish Team received the cup, the crowd erupted into cheers, and Draco found himself joining in, swept away by the atmosphere of pure euphoria. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face his father behind him that his smile faltered.

“Say goodbye to your  _ friends _ ,” he ordered in a tight voice, just loud enough for Draco to catch over the noise. “You are going home with your mother.”

“No,” Draco glared defiantly. “I want to celebrate with them a little longer. I can take a portkey back on my own.”

“You will do as you are told, Draco!” his father snapped, much too forceful for how he usually spoke in public, and it took Draco by surprise. “I will have no discussion over this. Bid them goodbye and leave.”

Draco just stared at him, working up to a tantrum, the Minister of Magic sitting nearby be damned, but then his mother leaned in, catching his eyes.

“Let’s go, Draco,” she said, with an air of finality. “This is not the time for arguments.”

Draco deflated, knowing he had lost this one. When he turned to Harry, the other boy was already watching, a frown on his face.

“I have to leave,” he sighed, pulling him into a hug. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, okay?”

“See you,” Harry nodded, the way he squeezed him back tightly telling Draco all about how reluctant he was to let him leave. Draco smiled sadly at him as he let go, turning to pull Hermione into a hug, too.

“It’s only a week before term starts,” she reminded him. “You’ll be out of there and back with us in no time.”

“Still too long,” Draco grumbled as he let go, squeezing her shoulder in parting. 

He took his time shaking the hand of every Weasley present, only to annoy his father, before meeting his mother at the stairway. 

“Why do we have to leave?!” he demanded angrily when they were out of earshot. “The match has barely ended, and he’s sticking around for the celebrations as well, is he not?!”

“I don’t know, Draco,” she frowned. “But your father was very vehement, in a way that has me worried. I think it’s better if we are safe at home tonight.”

Draco halted at that, staring at his mother.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, confused.

His mother was quiet for a moment, before smiling at Draco and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s probably nothing,” she replied. “But we should not provoke your father anymore tonight. You already did a spectacular job of it earlier today.”

Draco frowned, well aware that she was deflecting, but letting her, silently following her down the stairs and out of the stadium, the euphoria of only minutes ago gone completely.


	2. Never a Quiet Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Thank you for following me and this story into the fourth instalment! I was very happy to read all your beautiful comments. I hope you'll enjoy the second chapter just as much as the first one :)

Draco had to wait until the next morning to find out what their abrupt departure from the World Cup site was about. He’d had a troublesome sleep, unable to find rest with the sense of foreboding looming over him, and when he went down to breakfast, his mother was already sitting at the dining table, bend over the Daily Prophet. Her face was grave when she met his eyes, and it made Draco halt in his steps, terrified.

“What?” he demanded, skipping all pretence of polite greetings. 

“Promise me to not lose your temper,” she said.

“What happened?!” he snapped, too on edge to mind his manners.

His mother sighed and handed over the newspaper to him, resignation written all over her face.

He threw a look at the headline and blanched. There was a large photo of the Dark Mark up in the night sky gracing the front page, and the words below were huge seemed to jump at him. 

_ SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP _

He only stared in horror for a moment, unable to even read the article, before looking up at his mother.

“He was there, wasn’t he?”

“Draco,” she sighed. “We don’t know that.”

“Stop pampering me!” Draco called. “I’m not a child anymore, and I’m not stupid, either! The way he chased us out of there last night, and now this? I don’t believe in coincidences anymore, Mother!” When she didn’t answer, he narrowed his eyes, and hissed: “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco,” his mother rolled her eyes. “I had a feeling that he was up to something, but I had no idea what it was. I thought it would be better for us to be far away from whatever he was doing, that was all. I did not expect anything of that scale, or I’d have done something.”

“My friends were out there!” Draco reminded her, his voice high pitched in emotion. “Oh, Merlin! What if they were hurt?! What if he went after them?!”

“Draco, I don’t think-”

“He did it before! Remember the diary he gave to Ginny Weasley?!”

“Darling, please-”

“I need to check on them,” he muttered, dropping the newspaper and whirling around, storming out of the room.

“Draco!” his mother called after him. “It’s early, they won’t even be home yet-”

But Draco did not care what she had to say, did not want to be reasoned with. Instead, he bolted for the nearest fireplace, picking up some Floo Powder and stepping inside.

“The Burrow!” he called, and he was sucked into the green flames before anyone could stop him.

He stumbled out at the other end, coughing loudly, and it alerted Mrs Weasley to his presence. She hurried into the room, calling: “Arthur, is that-” but she stopped abruptly when she caught sight of Draco, pale and wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry for turning up unannounced,” Draco choked out. “I just needed to check - they aren’t back yet?”

Mrs Weasley shook her head, and Draco made a wounded sound, which seemed to help the woman pull herself together a little. Maybe it was her prominent motherly instinct that took over, for she made an effort to smile at him before crossing the distance between them and the soot of the Floo travel off him. 

“It’s still early, and the departures will be overrun,” she told him reasonably. “It will probably take them a while to come through. Why don’t you sit down and wait with me, dear? Are you hungry?”

Before Draco could even answer, she was leading him into the kitchen with a gentle hand on his back, and he found himself pushed into a chair as she waved her wand to bring the kitchen to life. 

“Look at you, you’ve grown so much! Just like Ron, it’s like you’ve been worked with a stretching spell, the two of you! Here, have some tea, I will fry some eggs and bacon for you!”

A cup of tea came to rest on the table in front of him before Draco could even say that he was too worried to eat, so he kept quiet, figuring that protest would do no good. 

“You haven’t heard anything from them?” Draco checked as she turned her back to him, and edge to his voice. Mrs Weasley shoulders tensed for a moment before she seemingly forced himself to relax.

“No, I have not,” she confirmed. “But that’s good news, is it not? If anything had happened to them, I’d have already been notified.”

Draco nodded, rather numbly, and his eyes fell onto the  _ Daily Prophet  _ spread out over the table. He forced himself to calm down enough to read the article, to get a sense of what really had happened, but it was written in a sensationalist manner that provided little actual information. All he got from it was that a group of former Death Eaters had gone on a rampage at the campsite at nighttime, causing a mass panic and having a go at the Muggle campsite manager and his family. The article suggested there had been casualties, but the Ministry had given a statement denying this. His fingers clenched around the cup in his hands, and a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages landed in front of Draco, pulling him back to the present.

“Here you go, dear,” Mrs Weasley said kindly, sitting down next to him. She had prepared no food for herself. When she realised that Draco’s eyes were still on the newspaper, she picked it up and folded it.

“Arthur always says Rita Skeeter twists each and every one of her stories to make things look worse than they are,” she told him, though her nerves were audible in her voice. “I would not pay too much attention to what she writes.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his own voice hollow. “You’re probably right.”

“Eat,” she urged. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.”

Draco obliged, not tasting anything, but chewing dutifully and trying not to be sick. As he ate, Mrs Weasley stood once more, restlessly walking over to the window and looking outside. The silence between them stretched on until she gasped, the newspaper crumbling in her hands.

“There they are!” she breathed, hurrying for the back door to the garden. Draco jumped up to follow her, and indeed, the group of Weasleys, including Harry and Hermione, had just turned up on the small path leading to the Burrow, looking very much in one piece. Draco felt like crying from the relief.

“Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!” Mrs Weasley called, finally expressing the panic she had tried to hide in front of Draco. “Arthur - I’ve been so worried -  _ so worried _ -”

As she pulled her husband into a tight embrace, Draco made a beeline for Harry, Hermione and Weasley.

“What are you doing here?” Weasley asked with wide eyes, but Draco ignored him, instead pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug of his own.

“You’re okay?” he muttered, stretching out his right arm to pull Hermione in, too. “You’re not hurt?”

“We’re fine, Draco,” Harry reassured him, squeezing his shoulder. “I’d have sent you an owl right away. You didn’t need to come here.”

“I had to see if you were okay,” Draco muttered, letting go of them, surprising himself by reaching out and putting a hand on Weasley’s shoulder as well, ridiculously relieved to see even him safe and sound. “And I couldn’t be in that house, not when-” 

He cut himself off, and Hermione took his hand in a comforting gesture. 

Mr Weasley, still comforting his distraught wife, led them all back into the house then, and the three of them quickly excused themselves to search the privacy of Weasley’s room. It was the first time Draco was in there, of course, but he made no comment about the horrible shade of orange and all the Canon’s merchandise, instead saying, the moment the door closed behind them: “My father was there last night. I know he was.”

“We thought so,” Harry nodded.

Draco’s eyes were prickling, and he blinked, trying to reign himself in.

“You could have all gotten hurt,” he muttered. 

“We almost did,” Weasley returned with a grimace, and when Draco stared at him in alarm, Harry grabbed him at the shoulders, making him meet his eyes.

“You listen to me,” he said firmly. “Whatever your prick of a father did or didn’t do, it’s not your fault! So don’t you dare blame yourself!”

“I should have known,” Draco croaked. “When he wanted me out of there so badly, I should have-” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Hermione said gently. “All of us thought he just wanted you away from us, or that he wanted to punish you for disobeying him.”

“What happened?” Draco asked finally. 

The three of them exchanged a look, and Harry manhandled Draco into taking a seat on Weasley’s bed before starting to explain. Draco was quiet throughout their joined recount of the story, just listening in pure horror as they described the havoc the Death Eater troop caused, the run in they’d had with whoever had conjured the Dark Mark, and how Winky, Mr Crouch’s house elf, had been blamed and sacked for the whole incident. Harry then proceeded to tell them that his scar had been hurting last Sunday upon waking from a dream about the Dark Lord and Pettigrew. 

“I can’t remember all of it now,” he explained haltingly, a deep frown on his face, “but they were plotting to kill… someone.” 

Draco was aware of the deliberate pause Harry had made before the last word and was about to ask  _ who _ they’d wanted to murder, but Weasley spoke first, in a tone of blind optimism Draco associated with him: “But it was just a dream. Just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, but was it, though?” Harry asked. “It’s weird, isn’t it… My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort’s sign’s up in the sky again.” He ignored Weasley when he complained about Harry’s use of the Dark Lord’s name, and continued: “And remember what Professor Trelawney said? At the end of last year?”

Hermione snorted at that. “Oh Harry, you aren’t going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?”

“You weren’t there!” Harry snapped, immediately defensive. “You didn’t hear her. This time was different. I told you, she fell into some kind of trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again…  _ greater and more terrible than ever before _ … and he’d manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and that night Wormtail escaped.”

A rich silence hung in the air, and Draco, quite uncomfortably, had to agree with Harry that it was all a bit too much of a coincidence. 

“I don’t know if I believe in anything that old bat says,” Draco clarified. “But it’s a creepy series of events, and if it’s indeed all connected to each other…” He did not finish the sentence, but he did not need to. His meaning was clear to all of them.

“I told Sirius about my scar,” Harry told them finally, looking out of the window as if waiting for his owl Hedwig to reappear out of thin air. “I’m still waiting for his answer.”

“Good thinking!” Weasley nodded, brightening up. “I bet Sirius’ll know what to do!”

“Have you thought about contacting Professor Lupin, too?” Draco suggested.

“No?” Harry admitted, frowning at his suggestion.

“He’s as involved as Sirius is, at this point, and it might be nice to get a second opinion,” Draco shrugged. “And he’s not in hiding, like Sirius is, so maybe he could be more of a direct help.”

“I’ll just wait for Sirius’ answer, for now,” Harry shrugged. “I’d hoped he’d get back to me quickly, but…”

“We don’t know where Sirius is,” Hermione reminded him. “He could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn’t he? Hedwig’s not going to manage  _ that _ journey in a few days.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighed in resignation.

Weasley then suggested that they go out and play Quidditch in the garden, and Harry and Draco accepted eagerly, happy about the distraction. Draco called one of the Manor elves to bring him his Nimbus 2001, and they gathered out in the garden with the older Weasley brothers safe Percy. Their numbers were uneven, though, which caused Ginny to ask if she could join them. Her brothers were highly sceptical, at first, but Bill insisted she should give it a try, and she turned out to be surprisingly talented.

They played until Mrs Weasley came out into the yard and called for Draco, informing them that his mother had come for him. Unwillingly, he returned to the house to find her waiting in the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand and looking ridiculously out of place in the Weasley’s cramped house. She put down the cup when he came into the room, approaching him with a soft smile on her face.

“Darling,” she said, reaching out to push his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

“Do I have a choice on the matter?” Draco muttered darkly.

She chuckled, her hand dropping to his shoulder, squeezing once. 

“Unless you wish to imitate your rogue cousin, I don’t think so, no.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture. “I’ll never forgive him,” he declared, under his breath, though they were alone in the kitchen. He did not want the Weasley family to overhear this particular conversation.

“I’m not asking you to,” his mother said simply.

“I hate living in the same house with him,” Draco continued. “Or being connected to him in any way. It’s shameful.”

His mother gulped and nodded.

“I understand why you feel that way,” she replied. “You’re only fourteen, but your moral compass is already much more attuned than your father’s - or mine, for that matter - has ever been. And I have no illusion as to whether that cleft between the two of you can ever be overcome. I’m just asking you to come home, if only until school starts again. If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.”

“That’s not fair,” Draco hissed, knowing she had him. 

“I never said I played fair,” she quipped, smiling. “Now say goodbye to your friends.”

“Yes, Mother,” he sighed, turning and walking back into the garden to do just that. Harry promised, under his breath, to keep him updated if there was any mail from Sirius, and Hermione told him to hold on tight and stay out of trouble. Mrs Weasley hugged him tightly and pushed some pastries at him and his mother before they left through the Floo.

“Well,” his mother chuckled as she put the pastries down on the kitchen table, and amused smile on his face. “I guess if you ever intend to walk the path of your cousin Sirius, there is one family who’d gladly take you in. Imagine the dismay of your father if that were to take place.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at that, rolling his eyes.

 

Draco carefully stayed out of his father’s way for the remaining week, but he was more than a little relieved to be off for King’s Cross on September First. Not only was he dying to get back with his friends and out of this house, but he was also really looking forward to the event that was being held at Hogwarts that year: His father had, of course, not spoken to Draco directly about the Triwizard Tournament, but he could not help bragging to his wife about the Minister of Magic confiding the information to him, and Narcissa Malfoy had taken the first opportunity she’d got to tell her son everything she knew. That had been many, many weeks ago, and the excitement of the news had worn off a little in the face of the Quidditch World Cup, but now that the year was about to start, it came back in full force. 

If possible, he was looking forward to the tournament even more than he would have due to the knowledge that, because of the new rule instituted by the Ministry of Magic, he and his friends were all too young to attend. He was fully aware that, faced with the direct challenge, his pride and his ambition would not allow him to turn it down, but deep down, he realised that he was not cut out for this kind of thing. His past little adventures with the Gryffindors had given him more than enough proof that he was not the brave, adventurous type that would persist under immense pressure, especially not when there was no one he could draw strength from at his side. It would be a disaster, and he knew it was better that he was not faced with the choice. He was even more glad, though, that Harry wouldn’t be faced with it, because out of all the people Draco knew, Harry  _ would _ be the right type of person. And honestly, Draco was sick of spending his time at Hogwarts worrying about his friend. There was the thing with the Dark Lord hanging permanently above his head already, and the last thing they needed now was a stupid tournament that could end up killing him. 

So really, Draco was relieved that they would all get to be in the audience and cheer for whichever poor sod was chosen, allowing them to enjoy the tournament to its fullest.

Draco met his friends at the platform the day they returned to school, and they set out to look for a compartment together, storing their luggage away before saying their goodbyes to Mrs Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Draco’s mother. Just as Draco was leaning in to kiss her cheek, he heard Charlie say: “I might be seeing you all sooner than you think.”

“Why?” Fred asked.

“You’ll see,” Charlie replied airily. “Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it… it’s ‘classified information until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it’, after all.”

Draco held in, stunned. With a father and a brother in the Ministry, it had not occurred to Draco that the Weasley children had not been told. He’d have written to them immediately if he had realised (and if it hadn’t, quite frankly, completely slipped his mind to mention). 

“Yeah, I sort of wished I was back in Hogwarts this year,” Bill sighed longingly. 

_ “Why?”  _ George demanded impatiently.

“Um,” Draco said quietly, but his mother slapped his arm lightly, her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be so rude to ruin their efforts, darling,” she told him under her breath, and Draco bit his lower lip, feeling quite awkward as the older Weasleys kept teasing the rest of them with the information they refused to reveal. He was glad when the whistle blew, indicating that the train was to take off. It was only when they finally made their way back to their compartment, Weasley still grumbling about his family, that Draco spoke up.

“I know what they were talking about,” he admitted, all three pairs of eyes zooming in on him. “If I had realised you didn’t know, I’d have said something earlier. I’m sorry.”

“What is it?!” Weasley demanded eagerly, almost slipping off his seat in eagerness to lean over to Draco, as if he’d miss the information from his position across from him. “What’s happening at Hogwarts?!”

“They’re bringing back the Triwizard Tournament,” Draco explained, smirking as he took in their reactions. Weasley let out a gasp, gaping at him in shock, and Hermione’s eyes widened both in understanding and awe. Harry, on the other hand, just frowned at him, obviously clueless.

“You’re kidding!” Weasley called incredulously. 

“What is the Triwizard Tournament?” Harry asked.

“It’s a tournament between three wizarding schools,” Hermione said, looking at Draco curiously. “I’ve read mentions of it in  _ Hogwarts, A History _ . But I thought it was discontinued?”

“It was,” Draco nodded. “Apparently, it was decided that the risk on the Champions’ lives was too high.”

“Champion?” Harry checked.

“Every school elects one representative to participate in the tournament for them,” Draco clarified. “They have to pass all sorts of tests to win, though I’m not sure what they actually entail. It all sounds pretty dangerous, though. There were some deaths in the past.”

Hermione gasped at that, but Weasley seemed unimpressed.

“Imagine being elected Hogwarts Champion,” he sighed longingly, his eyes glazed over.

“Oh no, you can forget that thought right away,” Draco laughed. “They altered the rules. Only students who are off age can attend now. So we’re way too young.”

“What?” Weasley gasped, waking from his daydream and looking crestfallen. “That’s so unfair!”

“I think it’s reasonable,” Draco shrugged. “Imagine the parents’ protests if their underage children were asked to sign up for a tournament that could kill them. That might have been feasible a century ago, but not nowadays.” Weasley was still pouting, but Draco ignored him, continuing: “Anyways, I think it will be a lot of fun for us to watch!”

“Which other schools are part of the tournament again?” Hermione asked eagerly. “I remember Beauxbatons…”

“Yes, them and Durmstrang,” Draco nodded. “It will be really interesting to have students from the continent at Hogwarts, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” Hermione agreed, smiling brightly. 

“Where are these schools?” Harry asked. 

“Well, nobody knows, do they?” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows at him. 

“They’re concealing their whereabouts to keep their secrets,” Draco shrugged. “It’s not unusual for wizarding schools. But I know Durmstrang is somewhere far in the north, like Scandinavia or Russia. And I’m pretty sure Beauxbatons is somewhere in France… One summer when I was younger, my parents took me to one of the Chateaus our family owns in the Provence, and we dined with a Pureblood Family from there who had two daughters that went to Beauxbatons. They spoke nothing but French and abominable English, so I’m sure French must be the instructive language.”

They kept chatting pleasantly about the other wizarding schools and the tournament until some of the Gryffindors from their year came by to their compartment, and they switched to rehashing the Quidditch World Cup Final together until they arrived at Hogsmeade Station.

It was raining heavily as they made their way up to the school in the carriages, and Draco was happy to be safely inside once they entered the castle, even if it meant he had to separate from his friends for the Welcoming Feast and join his own house at the Slytherin table. He sat far in the back, some seats away from a giggling pair of second-year girls who just eyed him for a moment before proceeding to ignore him, much to his relief. He saw Nott down at the front, chatting loudly with Crabbe and Goyle, and Zabini and Parkinson were sitting a little distance from them, chatting with Bulstrode and Greengrass. Satisfied that he would not have to suffer through any taunts during dinner, he turned his attention to the Sorting Ceremony.

It was only after dinner and the spectacular entrance of the old, battered-looking ex-Auror Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, who was announced to be their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher (Draco fiercely wished for Professor Lupin back. He had only met Moody once before at a Ministry event back when his father still took him to things like that, and the man gave him the creeps.), that Dumbledore announced to them that the Triwizard Tournament would take place at Hogwarts this year. The reactions of the other students were predictable, ranging from excited cheers and murmurs to angry exclamations about the age restrictions the Ministry had added (most of these from the Weasley Twins). As they were sent off to their dormitories only shortly later, the students could talk of little else, and Draco listened in on some conversations for amusement.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Nott called, making Draco groan out loud as the Trio of Trolls caught up with him. “So, you’re gonna go ahead and try to enter, or are you too chicken to do it?”

“Unlike you, Nott, I have a brain and know not to waste my time and efforts trying to outsmart Dumbledore,” Draco drawled. “But feel free to do it yourself. It’ll give me something to laugh about.”

“And here I thought you might want to show your poor father that you aren’t as much of a failure as a son as he thinks you are,” Nott cackled. “My fault for assuming you had a sense of pride.”

Draco laughed at that. “We differ a lot in our definitions of things to be proud of, Nott,” he said finally. “I know that I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I were you.”

“At least my family thinks I’m a model son,” Nott shrugged, smugness radiating off him. “You wished you could say the same thing about yourself, Malfoy. I know you well enough for that.”

“You obviously don’t,” Draco rolled his eyes. “The times when I wanted to make my father proud have been long past.”

And with that, he ducked out of the Common Room and headed for their dorms, ignoring Nott shouting further taunts after him. The days when Nott could get a rise out of him through insults were, after all, long past, as well.


	3. Hermione, the Defender of Elf Rights, and Moody, the Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the third chapter of this instalment. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always, please drop me a comment after reading to let me know what you think :) I've had a rough week and I could really use some cheering up. Love you.

“Hermione,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples as Harry hid his smile behind his Divination homework. “I do admire your sense for justice and your determination to help creatures in need - no, I really do,” he stressed when Hermione opened her mouth, eyes narrowed. “But you chose the wrong creatures for your rescue mission. Believe me, I have lived in a house cared for by house elves for all my life, and they’d die of shock if I offered them payment.”

“That’s because they’re brainwashed!” she hissed.

“You have to see it as a difference in cultural values,” Draco insisted. “You kept telling me over the years that Muggles aren’t worse off for the lack of magic in their lives, and that their way of living and their existence is not worthless because of it.”

“And what exactly does this have to do with the enslavement of creatures?” she demanded. 

“I am saying that it’s arrogant to force your own views on people of other cultures if they refuse to accept them, just because you think it’s the  _ right _ way to live! No, listen to me!” he insisted when Hermione was about to interrupt. “It’s an insult to them to offer wages. I agree that these elves are not treated right, especially by people like my father, and if you want to raise your voice for laws to protect them, I’m all for that. But they don’t want to be paid, and it’s pointless to waste your energy pushing them to accept your ideas.”

“Legal protection is going to be one of the long-term goals of S.P.E.W.,” Hermione replied colly. “But we are not going to be silenced until these elves are offered the same rights as wizards, and if you aren’t with us on that, Draco, you are against us.”

Draco slumped in his seat, looking at Harry imploringly, but the other was vehemently avoiding his gaze, still biting his lip to keep from grinning. He turned to Weasley for support instead.

“Say something!” he demanded. “You’re a pureblood as well! You know as well as I do that what she’s doing is pointless!”

Weasley shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I told her already,” he said, his mouth full. “But she won’t listen, and you know it’s better to just let her do what she wants instead of trying to change her mind.”

“You’re a big help, as always,” he muttered.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” she glared. “I admit that I’d hoped for your support, but I will go through with this no matter what you say. You might as well drop it now.”

“You brought it up!” Draco reminded her, but when she ignored his input, he just huffed and turned back to his Charms homework. “Whatever. Just don’t pull me into this.”

“I won’t,” she snapped. 

“Good,” he rolled his eyes, finally turning back to Harry, effectively ending the conversation. “Have you already had a class with Moody?”

“No,” Harry replied, dropping his book to meet Draco’s eyes, at last. “We have him in a double session tomorrow after lunch. You?”

“I have him first thing tomorrow morning,” Draco said. “I’m quite curious about his classes. Father has raged about him being a lunatic quite a lot at home, but I don’t trust his judgement anymore, so…”

“Dad likes him a lot,” Weasley joined in. “Though it does seem to be true that he’s lost his marbles at some point in the last couple of years.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t let him teach here if he thought he was in any way unsuitable,” Hermione frowned.

“He let Lockhart teach here,” Draco snorted. “I think applicants for the job are so rare that he’ll take what he can get.”

“Fred and George had him earlier today, and they said his class was something else,” Weasley said. “They seemed really impressed.”

“Well, I hope he’s worth his wage,” Draco sighed. “I don’t expect another Professor Lupin, but I’d rather not go back to useless-narcissist or two-faced-Death-Eater level.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about the second one, with a former Auror,” Hermione mused.

“Obviously, you have more trust in the Ministry than I have, Hermione,” Draco sighed. “Nothing against your father and brother, Weasley, but there’s a heck of corruption going on in the shadows. I should know, since my father is part of it.”

“He has Dumbledore’s trust,” Hermione repeated.

“Yeah, but Dumbledore is not always the sanest himself, is he,” Weasley smirked. “They probably get along fabulously.”

Draco and Harry laughed but quickly stopped when Hermione threw them a bad-tempered look and returned to their homework.

 

When both the fourth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins were filing into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after breakfast the next morning, there was a weird tension in the air. The Ravenclaws seemed mainly excited, if a little suspicious regarding Moody’s qualities as a teacher, but the Slytherins all seemed anxious, and Draco could understand why. Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, as a retired Auror who had spent his life chasing down the likes of their parents, seemed unlikely to take kindly to their house in general. 

It turned out their fears were justified, though Draco was still taken aback by the fierce hate Moody seemed to harbour not only for Slytherin house but also for him, personally.

“Put those blasted books away!” Moody snapped at the lot of them as they set up their materials on their desks. “No use for them in here. I’m not a big believer in the theoretical approach of learning magic, and you’re too far behind on the practical side of Defence as it is.”

Draco saw two Ravenclaws at the table next to his, Padma Patil and Sue Li, exchange wary glances, as if their suspicions had just been confirmed.

“Anyways, we’re going to work on Dark Curses today,” Moody continued, a nasty smile forming on his lips. “And I imagine the Snakes among you don’t need much theory on those as it is.”

Draco heard his housemates shift nervously in their seats, but Draco stood his ground, defiantly keeping his gaze on Moody. He refused to be intimidated for a reputation his father had acquired. He was not his father.

The determination in his face seemed to catch Moody’s attention, and his eyes landed on him.

“You’re Lucius Malfoy’s son, are you not?” he barked out, smirking when Draco agreed. “Just the person I need. Why don’t you tell us what you know about the Unforgivable Curses? You should be an expert on them, considering your family.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but it was the only sign of anger he allowed to show.

“The Unforgivable Curses are the three Dark Curses that are most heavily punished by Wizarding Law,” he answered smoothly. “The use of only one of them will give you a life sentence in Azkaban.”

“Yes, it would,” Moody agreed. “Under normal circumstances. Of course, there are always wizards that wriggle their way out of legal punishment, are there not?” Draco did not move a muscle, so Moody quickly continued: “Name one of them, Malfoy.”

“The Imperius Curse,” Draco responded, without missing a beat.

“Oh, you would know about that one,” Moody snorted. “The claim of it being used on him saved your own father from a run-in with the Dementors, did it not?”

Draco heard some faint chuckles from among the students, but knew, for once, that they did not originate from his housemates. Draco was not surprised that the Ravenclaws enjoyed the scene playing out in front of them. They had never forgiven Draco (or Hermione) for beating them in every exam yet.

Moody, though, ignored them and turned towards his desk, opening one of the drawers. He pulled out a glass jar that contained three large spiders. The class was completely silent as he lured one of the spiders out onto his hand and held it out for all of them to see. With his other hand, he pointed his wand at the spider and muttered: “ _ Imperio!” _

The spider was starting to do all kind of ridiculous things, flinging itself through the air like an acrobat or dancing like a ballerina, and there were the sounds of various gasps among the students, but despite the rather funny picture the spider made, no one laughed.

“Total control,” Moody said softly, his eyes on the spider as it made cartwheels across one of the desks. “I could make it do everything in this state, but I assume most of you are very aware of the effects of this spell, are you not?” His magical eye cursed over the classroom, stopping once on every student with Death Eater connections before he continued: “For those without personal experiences like these, let me explain. Years ago, a certain dark wizard and his followers had taken to control a lot of people by means of this very curse. When he fell, though, it turned out to be the perfect excuse for exactly these followers to escape consequences - how, after all, could the Ministry prove whether one had acted by his own will or by someone else’s?” He held in for a moment, face grim as he watched the spider break into a step-dance. “The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, though I don’t expect many of you to succeed. It takes real strength of character to throw it off, and that’s not exactly a trait I associate with one of your houses.” 

He barked out a laugh and picked up the spider, throwing it back into the jar. Then, he once more turned to Draco, his good eye gleaming. 

“Now, Malfoy,” he continued. “Why don’t you keep enlightening us, since you seem to be such an expert. Name another curse.”

Draco felt the looks of contempt from the Ravenclaws on the back of his head, but he refused to shrink down in the face of such unfair premature judgement. He knew if it had been Harry, he’d have fought him - after all, he had seen him get into countless quarrels with Snape like that, always ending with him in detention - but he had more self-control then that, and he was not going to give this Professor the satisfaction. So he forced his voice into calm professionalism as he answered: “The Cruciatus Curse.”

“Yes,” Moody smiled, his scarred face contorting under the strain. “Have personal experience with that one, too, don’t you, Malfoy? Your aunt was imprisoned for that one. Among other things, of course."

_ I was a toddler when that happened _ , Draco ranted inwardly.  _ I don’t even remember her. What she did has nothing to do with me. Don’t throw me in with these people. Have I not proved myself enough in the last couple of years?! _

But he voiced none of this, only watching impassively as Moody picked up another spider and enlarged it for illustration purposes. 

“ _ Crucio! _ ” Moody muttered, pointing his wand at the spider. The effect was immediate, and Draco flinched as it shuddered and jerked in pain. He averted his eyes, focusing it on the foot of the desk instead, waiting for it to be over.

“Excruciating pain,” Moody announced, his voice almost echoing in the tense silence. “Worse torture than any Muggle device could ever inflict. It can break a person completely, that curse.”

He finally ended the curse and shrank the spider back to its original size before putting it back into the jar. He turned to Draco once more, his eyes a challenge.

“And the last one?” he prodded. “You should be familiar with that one, too, seeing that you’re friends with the only person known to survive it.”

Draco chest tightened at those words. He needed a few moments to find his voice and answer.

“The Killing Curse,” he finally brought out.

Moody did not say anything, he just picked the last spider from the jaw and held it out for all of them to see.

“ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ” 

A flash of green light hit the spider and Draco stared, horrified, as the spider rolled onto its back, clearly dead. 

The answering silence in the room was total. Moody dropped the dead spider onto the floor in a careless gesture, brushing his hands off on his robes. 

“There is no counter-curse,” he announced, almost conversationally. “No way of blocking it, either. You’d better hope you’re never on the receiving end of it, or this green light will be the last thing you’ll ever see.” 

The prolonged silence at those words was interrupted by the bell, signalling, thankfully, the end of the lesson. 

“Right,” Moody said gruffly. “Class dismissed.”

Draco, without consciously deciding to move, was on his feet and out of the room at lightning speed. He did not stop until he had reached the next bathroom, where he emptied this morning’s breakfast right into the toilet. His stomach felt like it was filled with snakes, winding themselves through his organs and causing him to dry heave even when his stomach was already empty. He was shaking from head to toe, and his eyes were prickling with tears.

He had known, of course, that Harry had survived the Killing Curse. Everyone knew it. But the visual of how close his best friend had come to dropping dead like that spider, its life lost as randomly and inconsequentially that it was just brushed onto the floor like dirt… It had shaken Draco deeply, and he curled in on himself upon the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, hugging his knees close to his chest and taking deep, steadying breaths. 

 

“There you are, Malfoy!” Weasley called, his voice impatient as Draco joined them in front of the Potions Classroom, barely in time. “How was your class with Moody?! What did he teach you?!”

“Draco, are you okay?” Harry cut Weasley off, taking in the greenish tint Draco knew his face was spotting. 

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, unwilling to talk about what had just happened in this classroom. Thankfully, Snape threw open the door just a moment later, so his friends were kept from asking further questions, though Draco could feel Harry’s eyes on his face, the worry radiating off him in waves.

As Snape turned to the blackboard to list the ingredients needed for today’s potion, Draco reached a hand over to Harry underneath the desk. He found the wrist of his left hand and pressed his fingers to it, letting the steady pulse he felt calm his nerves. Harry let him for a couple of moments before shifting his hand to lace their fingers together, squeezing Draco’s hand in comfort. Draco squeezed back, his eyes focused on the blackboard.

 

Draco knew he could not escape the conversation forever, and after Potions, Harry practically pulled him out of the dungeons, murmuring to Hermione and Weasley that he would join them at lunch later before dragging him out of the castle and out to the grounds, which were bathed in the last feelers of summer weather. 

“Now, tell me what happened!” Harry demanded, rounding in on him. “You looked like someone died!”

Draco flinched at Harry’s choice of words. He took a steadying breath and started walking in the direction of the lake, feeling the need to move. 

“It was nothing, really,” he shrugged. “Moody just showed a couple of spells in class, and I couldn’t… stomach them very well.”

“What kind of spells?” Harry asked, falling into step beside him.

“Unforgivables,” Draco muttered, and at Harry’s confused frown, he added: “You’ll see for yourself later. You have him after lunch, right?” Harry nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still on Draco’s face. “He also doesn’t like me much,” Draco added, to stir away from the topic. “He threw me in right with my father.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry bristled. “You couldn’t be more different from him if you tried! It’s not fair of him to judge you for something you never had any influence on!”

“Well, that’s how it works, though, isn’t it?” Draco shrugged. “Weasley was the same back in the first two years. And Snape does the same to you, really. I guess old grudges die hard.”

Harry hummed in agreement, clearly displeased with the idea of Draco being mistreated by their new teacher, and it made him feel a little better about the whole incident. As long as Harry was on his side and got angry at the idea of people grouping Draco in with his father, he did not care what Moody or anyone else said, he decided. 

“Well,” Harry muttered. “You’re not the only one to dislike Moody, by the looks of it. Did you notice the horrible mood Snape was in today?”

“No surprise there,” Draco snorted. “He snatched the position he’s always wanted away from him. He’ll never take kindly to any new Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers ever, mark my words.”

Their conversation flowed further into that direction after, and soon, Hermione and Weasley caught up with them, joining them with a couple of packed sandwiches. They sat down on the grass near the lake, enjoying the sunlight and delving into pleasant topics far away from Moody or Unforgivable Curses.

 

They Gryffindor’s lesson with Moody went better than his own, though not by much, as far as he could tell. Weasley, naturally, was completely taken by the new teacher, given that Moody seemed to have shown a liking to all Weasley children due to his appreciation of their father. Harry and Hermione seemed a little wearier - while Harry agreed with Weasley that the presentation of the Unforgivable Curses throughout class had been impressive, he seemed quiet and shaken when he saw them before dinner. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed very disapproving of his teaching methods.

“You should have seen Neville’s face when he cast the Cruciatus Curse on that spider,” she muttered, her lips tight for a moment before she continued: “I agree that school has a responsibility to prepare us, but I’m not sure performing these curses in a classroom was entirely necessary.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, his eyes finding the back of Longbottom’s head in the crowd of students. He had never heard the details of what had happened to Longbottom’s parents, only that they had been attacked by Death Eaters shortly after the end of the first war. Draco could imagine that seeing dark curses like these performed in front of him would open old wounds. He did not voice his thoughts to his friends, though, instead continuing: “I get the Imperius Curse if he really wants to teach us how to throw it off. Which I think is great, by the way. But the other two… I am sure he could have gotten the point across differently if he'd wanted to.”

“I don’t think he wanted to, though,” Harry mused. “I think he’s counting on the shock factor.”

“He’s not wrong, is he?” Weasley shrugged. “He definitely made an impression. I’m more likely to remember anything he teaches than say, Professor Binns.”

“Well, you’ve always had a slight sensationalist streak,” Draco injected. “Not everyone needs to be frightened into remembering course materials.”

Weasley glared, opening his mouth to retort, but Harry spoke over him, announcing that he was hungry and wanted to eat. So they separated for their respective house tables, and as Draco took a seat, he looked up at the staff table to find Moody’s magical eye trained upon him. Draco held the gaze, staring back defiantly until Professor Sprout offered Moody some potatoes, effectively distracting him.

 

Harry was waiting for Draco in the Entrance Hall the next morning, a bunch of sandwiches in hand, asking him to take a walk over the grounds. Draco knew this meant he had things to share with him, so he accepted the sandwiches and followed Harry outside. The morning air was chilly and Draco pulled his school robes tighter around himself, looking at Harry enquiringly.

“I got an answer from Sirius last night,” Harry muttered, his expression dark. “He’s heading back north.”

“What?” Draco gasped, almost dropping his sandwich. “Why?”

“Because my letter worried him,” Harry spat. “It was stupid to write to him! Now he thinks I’m in danger and he needs to come back here, and if he gets caught it will be my fault!”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said gently. “You were looking for advice from someone more experienced than your friends, and Sirius was the obvious choice. You did not ask him to do anything rash. That was all him and his Gryffindor tendencies.”

“I should have known!” Harry protested.

“Why, because you have known Sirius for such a long time that you can predict his actions?” Draco rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Harry. Stop blaming yourself. It won’t help anyone.”

“I answered Sirius this morning,” Harry muttered. “Trying to convince him that it’s not necessary for him to come here and that I might have imagined my scar hurting.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Draco said sceptically. “For one, he might already be on his way. And he doesn’t strike me as stupid, or willfully ignorant, like Weasley is sometimes.”

“It’s worth a try,” Harry grumbled. “I hate the thought of him coming back. I don’t need another thing to worry about.” 

“I know you don’t,” Draco sighed.

“You were right,” Harry said bitterly. “I should have written to Lupin instead. Sometimes I wished I was more level-headed, like you.”

“As much as that flatters me,” Draco smirked. “you’re in the wrong house for that. Plus, my policy of ‘sit back and wait’ doesn’t really help in most cases, either. I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Which is why we work best when we combine our forces.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Harry’s lips at that, but it was lost to a deep sigh as he looked out over the sky, as if expecting Hedwig back any moment. 

“Sirius will be fine,” Draco tried to reassure him. “He’s escaped justice for more than a year, and he will continue to do so. Only very few people know of his Animagus form, and all of them know he’s innocent.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, biting his lip. “Still…” He let the sentence trail off and the silence stretched between them. Draco reached for Harry’s hand, enlacing their fingers. Harry squeezed back in response.


	4. What Looked to be a Fun Tournament...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the new chapter, and happy to introduce Viktor Krum into the story. He has a central role in my version of this fourth year, and I hope you'll be as fond of him as I am. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kind words after my last update! Your little messages always make me smile and I feel blessed to have so many wonderful readers. Hugs to all of you.

Their workload for this year has increased significantly in the face of the O.W.L. exams they would be taking at the end of their fifth year, and Draco was thankful that it kept them occupied - not only was it keeping Harry too busy to worry himself sick over Sirius, who had sent an answer that he was back in the country and ‘well hidden’, but it also kept Hermione from obsessing more about her Elf Rights Organisation than she already did. Between the unfortunate and dangerous crossbreeds Hagrid had dragged into class as a pet project and Moody performing the Imperius Curse on them in class, expecting them to be able to throw it off without instructions and by the mere help of his taunts (at least in case of the Slytherin students), they spent most of their free time in the library studying.

It was when the arrival of the rivaling schools for the Triwizard Tournament was announced, though, that the buzz of pleasant anticipation rolled through the school again. Discussions about who would be best suited as Hogwarts Champion were dominating the student landscape, followed closely by what was to be expected from the students of the other schools and what the Champions would have to face in the tournament. In addition, the staff gave it their best efforts to polish both castle and students into giving the very best impression to their foreign guests. 

The day of their arrival came one evening before Halloween, and the castle was clean and shiny in a way Draco had never seen it before, with the Great Hall decorated in festive house banners. Afternoon classes were to end half an hour early, which meant their double-Potions sessions was cut short (much to Harry’s delight), and they were asked to drop their things off in their dormitories and assemble down in the Entrance Hall. They were ordered about by their Heads of Houses until they had all taken orderly positions on the front steps. Draco, much to his dismay, was standing in between Daphne Greengrass on one side and Theodore Nott on the other, and Nott kept muttering taunts to Draco under his breath, apparently enjoying himself immensely.

“I’d make sure to play nice with the Durmstrang students, Malfoy,” he smirked. “From what I heard, your father is one step away from sending you there, and we don’t want any _accidents_ to happen, do we? They’re all your superiors in Dark Arts, after all. I think your father hopes they will set you straight, but _I_ think they’d just finish you off before your first letter - in which you'd be pleading your mother for help, naturally - had even reached Wiltshire.”

“Durmstrang doesn’t sound half-bad right now,” Draco drawled without looking at him. “At least I’d be rid of a bumbling idiot like you.”

“I’d love to see you trying to survive without Saint Potter to hide behind,” Nott scoffed. “You wouldn’t last a-”

“Theodore, would you please shut up and leave it be?” Parkinson interrupted from next to him, her tone exasperated. “Your incessant prattling is giving me a headache.”

Both Draco and Nott started at her words, unused to anyone interfering with Nott’s bullying. 

“What’s this, Pansy?” Nott countered, raising both eyebrows and turning to look at her. “Don’t tell me you care about what happens to dear  _ Draco _ ? Do you  _ fancy _ him?”

“Oh, please, grow up,” she sniffed, rolling his eyes. “I can complain about you being a pain in the butt without-”

“Ms Parkinson and Mr Nott, if you don’t lower your voice I will feed you both to the giant squid before the other schools have time to arrive, just to make sure you will not embarrass Hogwarts by the nonsense that tends to come out of your mouths.”

Both Nott and Parkinson fell silent at Snape’s threat, looking sufficiently abashed.

The silence that stretched out between them was broken by Dumbledore, who suddenly called out from the back rows.

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

Murmuring broke out among the students until finally, the attention of everyone was drawn to the sky, where something indistinct was nearing the school in fast speed. First, Draco wondered if they had travelled by broom, but quickly discarded the idea: A broom ride was chilly under the best of circumstances, and not something a delegation used to Southern European weather would be able to handle easily. Not to mention that, from what he had heard of Beauxbatons, it was a very elegant institution, and he was sure they'd want to make a more spectacular entrance befitting of their style. 

And as they approached, it turned out that he had been correct: The indistinct shape in the sky turned out to be a pastel blue carriage with an intricately carved exterior, drawn by a flock of huge palomino Pegasi. They landed with a considerable sound of impact that made some students stumble backwards in alarm, and came to a halt not far from where the Hogwarts students and staff were waiting. The school crest was carved into the doors of the carriage, and they opened to reveal a male student in pale blue robes, who stepped out to unfold a set of golden stairs. He then stepped back to make room for an elegant woman about the size of Hagrid, who was clearly the Headmistress. Dumbledore initiated applause, with staff and students joining in immediately, making the Headmistress of Beauxbatons smile as she approached her colleague, stretching out a hand for Dumbledore to kiss. 

“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

They proceeded to exchange pleasantries, Madame Maxime in heavily accented English, and Dumbledore in his usual, charming manner. Meanwhile, the Beauxbatons students were filing out of the carriage, shivering from the Scottish cold in their thin, satin uniforms and throwing apprehensive looks up at the castle. Draco had been guest to the French Pureblood Society often enough to know that Hogwarts must seem rather rustical in comparison to what they were used to. Their Headmistress then led into the warmth of the castle, and the Hogwarts students and staff remained outside, waiting for the Durmstrang delegation.

They did not need to wait for long: Only moments after the last Beauxbatons student had stepped inside, a dim rumbling sound reached them from the direction of the lake, and then, the water’s surface broke out into circular waves emanating from its centre. A gigantic ship rose out of the water and approached the bank. The ship docked and soon students were filing out onto the Hogwarts grounds across a plank. 

Unlike the Beauxbatons students, they were wearing fur coats, which Draco assumed were a necessary part of their school uniform in order to not freeze to death wherever Durmstrang was situated. Their Headmaster, who leading the delegation up to the castle, was sized like a normal human being and silver-haired. Draco watched him for a moment, remembering that he was an acquaintance of his father’s. That could mean nothing good, he decided. 

Durmstrang’s Headmaster approached Dumbledore with a smile on his face.

“Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied, equally as heartily, and shook hands with him. 

“Dear old Hogwarts,” Professor Karkaroff sighed as he looked up at the castle. His English was lightly accented as well, though by far not as strongly as Madame Maxime’s had been. “How good it is to be here, how good…” He turned towards his students, and beckoned: “Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…”

Gasps and murmurs broke through the crowd of students, and Draco stared, unable to believe his eyes as none other than Viktor Krum stepped forward. 

“Salazar’s dirty pants,” Nott muttered next to him, and for once, Draco was willing to agree.

 

The students were in an uproar as they entered the Great Hall, heads turning left and right to get a glimpse of Krum. Draco chose to have more dignity than them - not because he was less excited, but because he had been friends with Harry long enough to know how uncomfortable it was for celebrities to be stared at - and pushed his way through the crowd, taking his usual seat at the Slytherin table, far off from most other students. 

The Beauxbatons had joined the Ravenclaw table but seemed unwilling to communicate with the other students. They were huddled together, wrapped up in their shawls and grumbling among each other in French. He watched them for a moment until someone stood in his field of vision, and he looked up to find none other than Krum himself across the table, an unsure frown on his face.

“Is this place free?” he asked in a gruff voice. 

“Yes,” Draco nodded, rather dumbstruck, indicating to the bench across from him in a politeness his parents had bred into him. “Please sit.”

Krum nodded in thanks and lowered himself onto the bench, quickly followed by most of the other Durmstrang students. Draco noted that Krum seemed keen to keep some distance between himself and the people that were staring at him - maybe that was why he had chosen to sit with Draco, who had been keeping his distance himself, minding his own business like he usually did at his house table.

Draco threw a quick look over at the Gryffindor table, finding the eyes of his friends on him. Weasley mouth had dropped open and he was looking at him incredulously and not just a little envious. Hermione was rolling her eyes at Weasley and elbowing him, and Harry was grinning, raising his eyebrows at Draco. Draco smiled back before biting his lip, keen to assume a neutral expression. The last thing he wanted was to chase Krum away again.

Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Maxime were the last people to enter the Great Hall, and the Beauxbatons students leapt to their feet as their Headmistress passed by, causing some Hogwarts students to laugh. Draco, though, knew that the French had a different culture when it came to showing respect to their mentors, so he just watched without comment as the Headmasters and Headmistress made their way across the room and took their seats at the staff table. Only Dumbledore remained standing, and the crowd of students fell silent.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests,” Dumbledore boomed, a bright smile on his face. “I have a great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will both be comfortable and enjoyable.” He ignored a derisive snort coming from some Beauxbatons student and continued: The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” 

At his indication, the tables filled with a much greater variety of dishes than was usual even for feasts, seemingly from different corners of Europe. Draco noted French and Spanish dishes he had eaten before on family holidays as well as dishes that, if pressed, he would sort somewhere into the Russian or Balkan cuisine. He noted that across from him, Krum was considering one of the British dishes, looking unsure. 

“That’s Lancashire hotpot,” Draco told him, making the other boy look up. “It’s got lamb inside.”

“Oh,” Krum frowned. “I thought it vas Shepherd’s Pie. I had it this summer. It vas very good.”

“This is Shepherd’s Pie,” Draco indicated to another dish not far from them. “Both are good, though. I know British cuisine is infamous in Europe, but the Hogwarts house elves really are superb. There is no need to worry about the food.”

“I see,” Krum nodded, reaching out to put some Shepherd’s Pie onto his plate.

“Do you know, by any chance, what these are?” Draco asked, indicating to a few meals he was not familiar with. “I think this is Goulash, but the rest…”

“That is Stroganoff,” Krum told him. “It is beef. Over there is Shashlik, and those-” he pointed to a couple of dumplings. “are Pelmeni. They haff meat or fish inside.”

“I see,” Draco nodded, putting some of each onto his plate out of curiosity.

“Vot is your name?” Krum asked, taking in his face.

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco introduced himself, holding out his hand for Krum to shake.

“Viktor Krum,” he replied, returning the gesture.

“I know,” Draco smiled. “I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” Krum said politely, pulling his hand away again and turning to his plate.

They ate in a silence that wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, and Draco realised that Krum did not even communicate with his fellow students. He wondered, for a moment, if his fame isolated him from his peers, or if he just enjoyed being alone.

Halfway through dinner, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch arrived and joined the staff table. Both he and Krum observed their entrance with a frown and caught each other’s eyes for a moment.

“They are from your Ministry, are they not?” Krum asked gruffly.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Head of Magical Games and Sports and Head of International Magical Cooperation.”

“I see,” Krum nodded. “I saw them at the Vorld Cup.”

“Yes, they were there,” Draco agreed. Krum nodded and examined the pudding that had started to appear on the table. They exchanged names and ingredients of desserts again, and Krum ended up trying some treacle tart, Harry’s favourite, while Draco ate his way through some pastry he could not pronounce. 

When the tables finally cleared of food, Dumbledore got to his feet again, a smile on his face. The hall was enveloped by an excited silence.

“The moment has come,” Dumbledore announced. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce-” he proceeded to present both Crouch and Bagman to the crowd, before continuing: “Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions’ efforts.” He smiled at the tension that seemed to travel over the students at the word ‘champions’, and instructed Filch to bring in “the casket”.

Filch then brought in what looked like an ancient, though elegantly adorned, wooden chest. As the caretaker placed it on the table before him, Dumbledore continued explaining the basics of the Tournament - three champions, one from each school, having to face three tasks throughout the school year that would test their “magical prowess”, their “daring”, their “power of deduction” as well as “their ability to cope with danger.” They’d receive marks for their performance in each task, and the champion with the highest total would win the Triwizard Cup. 

“The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector,” Dumbledore announced, at last. “The Goblet of Fire.”

He tapped the chest Filch had set onto the table in front of him three times with his wand until it jumped open to reveal a large, wooden cup filled with lazily flickering blue flames. Dumbledore placed the cup on top of the chest.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet,” he explained. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe’en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged the most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage students yield to temptation I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.” 

As Dumbledore proceeded to impress upon them the seriousness of the decision whether or not to put their names forward, Draco threw a look over to the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins were sitting not far from their brother, Harry and Hermione, attentively listening to Dumbledore’s every word. He had heard them boasting that they’d find a way to compete, and he knew that no one would be able to talk any sense into them or convince them that it was a hopeless endeavour. He was looking forward to whatever commotion they would cause with their failed attempts, though.

“Now, I think it is time for bed,” Dumbledore concluded, smiling into the round. “Goodnight to all of you.”

The twins immediately turned to each other to converse in excited whispered, and Draco snorted under his breath as he got to his feet.

“Vill you put in your name?” Krum spoke up, examining Draco as if to judge his age.

“Me?” Draco laughed. “Merlin, no. I’m too young anyway. But good luck to you!”

“I see,” Krum nodded. “Thank you. Haff a good night.”

“You too,” Draco smiled, watching as Krum left the Great Hall with the other Durmstrang students. Draco, on the other hand, could barely get to the door before he was cornered by Weasley.

“You absolute shit,” he hissed, though he sounded more awed than angry. “What did you talk about? What did he say? Can you introduce me?”

“By Salazar, Weasley, if you don’t shut up I’ll drag you to Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught,” he laughed. “We didn’t talk all that much. Just about the food, mostly. He asked me if I was going to put my name forward for the Tournament. Things like that.”

“I’m so jealous,” Weasley almost whined.

“Ron, he’s a person like you and me,” Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“He’s the best Seeker in the world, Hermione!” Weasley argued.

“I think he doesn’t like the attention much, though,” Draco frowned. “That’s why he sat with me, I guess. Because I was sitting alone and wasn’t wetting myself about getting close to him.” Weasley glared at him, probably taking his words personally, but Draco just turned to look at Harry. “He actually reminded me a little of you,” he said. “You’ve always been uncomfortable in the public eye, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry made a face. “I can relate all too well.”

 

The following day was a weird one. When Draco entered the Great Hall for breakfast around the usual time, not only were his friends already through with their own food, but the tables were surprisingly filled for the early hour on a weekend. He was waved over to the Gryffindor table to eat and be caught up on the happenings of the morning: How the Weasley twins and their friend had tried to get one over Dumbledore by taking an Aging Potion, and had consequently found themselves with beards that had to be removed by Madam Pomfrey, and the list of Hogwarts students that were rumored to have put their names forward. 

“We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” Harry called incredulous when Thomas mentioned Warrington. He quickly turned to Draco, embarrassed and muttering: “I mean-”

“Don’t bother,” Draco snorted. “It’s not like I’m friends with any of them.”

“All the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,” Finnigan muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Not  _ him _ ,” Draco moaned. “I hate him.”

“Just because he bet you at Quidditch last year,” Hermione injected with a smile.

“He’s arrogant,” Draco sniffed. “And just because he has a pretty face does not mean he’s suited to represent our school. He’s a  _ Hufflepuff _ .”

“He was nice enough when we met him at the World Cup,” Harry shrugged, smirking when Draco glared at him.

“Traitor,” he snapped, but Hermione shushed him when cheers filtered in from the Entrance Hall, indicating that someone new had thrown their name into the Goblet. One of the Gryffindor Chasers, Angelina Johnson, then entered the Great Hall with an embarrassed smile on her face, and the Gryffindors surrounding him proceeded to declare their complete support to her while Draco continued eating.

They decided to visit Hagrid throughout the day, and that trip went more than a little unusual as well. Madame Maxime’s arrival at the school had obviously made an immense impression on Hagrid, for he was dressed in his finest suit (which wouldn’t have been allowed into the Manor even as a washcloth) and had attempted to slick down his hair, with disastrous results. He also abandoned them on the way up to the castle for dinner, in favour of the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, which Draco found more amusing than insulting, but left especially Hermione quite indignant, though he assumed that had more to do with Hagrid having turned down her elf-right movement without a second thought only a short while before.

When they took their seats at their respective house tables, the mood in the Great Hall was sizzling with tension and excitement, and Draco found it quite catching. Viktor Krum came back to sit with him, which pleased him immensely. He did not usually have the pleasure of company at the Slytherin table, not to mention that of a famous Quidditch player. 

“You put your name into the Goblet earlier?” Draco asked as they dug into their meals. Krum just shrugged and nodded. “Well, good luck! I’m rooting for you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Is there anyone you support for your school?”

“Not really,” Draco shrugged. “My friends are all for Angelina Johnson because she’s from their house, but I don’t really care, to be honest. Though I guess rather her than Diggory.”

“You are friends with Harry Potter, are you not?” Krum asked suddenly. “I saw you vith him this morning at breakfast.”

“I am,” Draco confirmed, smiling. “Ever since First Year.”

Krum just nodded, pausing to eat some of his goulash, before he continued: “Vy do you not sit with them if they are your friends?”

“Oh, it’s not really common to sit somewhere that’s not your house table at Hogwarts,” Draco explained. “Sometimes we do it anyway, but if I’d dare to break etiquette at an official occasion like this one, Snape would have my head. Professor Snape is Slytherin’s Head of House,” Draco added, at Krum’s confused frown. “The word ‘fun’ is not really in his vocabulary. I don’t think anyone has ever seen him smile unless it was out of malice.”

“I see,” Krum said.

“Do you have a system like that at Durmstrang?” Draco asked curiously. “The houses, I mean?”

“No,” Krum frowned. “No, but ve are divided by our mother tongues. In Durmstrang, ve haff students from all over Europe, you see. So ve haff language classes to make sure ve can all speak either German or Russian. Each lesson is taught in both languages, and you haff to choose one. Teachers haff to speak both, as vell. And the language teachers speak lots more, so they can help everyone.”

“So you basically hang out with either the kids that speak Russian or the kids that speak German?” Draco enquired.

“Mostly,” Krum agreed. “Or those from your country.”

“And here I thought the house system was restrictive, but I guess it’s not much different without it, either,” Draco frowned. 

“I think no matter vere you are, you vill alvays find a few good friends and be vith them,” Krum shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” Draco agreed. “What about your friends? Did none of them come along?” 

“No,” Krum replied, looking wistful for a moment. “Andrey vanted to concentrate on his studies, and Stoyan’s parents did not want him to come to Britain after vat happened at the Vorld Cup.”

“Oh,” Draco made a face. “That sucks.” He paused, then offered, tentatively: “If you ever want company, feel free to hang out with me and my friends. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Though I won’t vouch for anything Weasley says or does. He can be very fanboyish.” 

Krum smiled at that, and it was the first time Draco had seen the other boy smile. It transformed his face completely. Draco felt quite pleased with himself.

“Thank you,” he said. “You are very kind, Draco.”

“I guess I just know what it’s like to be alone,” Draco shrugged, feeling a little awkward at the praise.

When the tables were finally cleared of dishes, Dumbledore got to his feet, and the students immediately fell silent. 

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” the Headmaster announced. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the Champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table and go into the next chamber, where they will be receiving their first instructions.” 

Dumbledore extinguished most of the candles with a wave of his wand, leaving the Goblet of Fire as the most prominent light source, drawing the eyes of every person in the room. The blue flames continued crackling, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then, the flames turned into a sudden, vivid red, growing and emitting sparks, until, with a huge spit of fire, it released a charred piece of parchment into the air. Dumbledore caught it and held it in the light to read.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he announced. “will be Viktor Krum.”

Cheers broke out throughout students from all schools, and Draco joined in, grinning at Krum, whose face twitched into a small smile in return before he stood, his face straight and proud as he walked up to the front of the Hall. Maybe, Draco mused, if the Hogwarts champion turned out to be less than satisfactory, he would end up rooting for Durmstrang.

When Krum had left the Hall through the door behind the staff table, the applause ceased and the tension rose once more as the flames turned red again. A second parchment was emitted from the searing flames, and Dumbledore caught it, announcing: “The champion for Beauxbatons will be Fleur Delacour!”

The girl that got to her feet had silvery blonde hair, not unlike Draco’s own, and was very pretty and graceful. She, too, walked towards the staff table in a stance that radiated pride and dignity, while her schoolmates showed their disappointment in a less dignified manner of anger and despair. 

When Delacour had followed Krum into the chamber, everyone’s attention returned immediately to the Goblet, the air so tense you could probably slice right through it with a hex. Draco bit his lip as the fire turned red again and the flames spit out a third piece of parchment, which again, Dumbledore caught with an easy movement before reading it.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he called. “is Cedric Diggory.”

“No” Draco moaned, but he could barely hear himself over the uproar at the Hufflepuff table. Diggory, smug bastard that he was, was grinning as he got to his feet and made his way towards the staff table. Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table, catching Harry’s eyes. He made a face expressing his displeasure, and Harry laughed. 

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called as Diggory, too, had left the room. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster.” Draco grimaced. “By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-”

But Dumbledore trailed off, staring, like everyone else, when the flames in the Goblet turned once more from blue to red. Again, the flames grew and grew, and finally, another piece of parchment shot out of them.

Dumbledore caught the parchment in apparent shock and turned to read it. There was a moment of deep silence as everyone watched him, waiting for him to speak up. At last, Dumbledore cleared his throat, a deep frown on his face as he said one name that made Draco’s blood turn to ice.

“ _ Harry Potter _ .”


	5. Groups of Threes and Fours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest readers! Thanks, as always, for all your amazing comments, they give me so much strength and joy! I apologise for the cliffhanger in the last chapter. Us authors are rude like that. I hope, though, that you enjoy Draco's reaction to the whole disaster even more after the wait :)

Draco couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He just gaped at Dumbledore, hoping against hope and sense that he had heard him wrong, or that the Headmaster had misread whatever was written on the parchment.

The utter silence within the Great Hall was ice cold. Everyone had turned to stare into the direction of the Gryffindor table, throwing judgemental looks at Harry, as if Harry was to blame for whatever in Salazar’s name was happening here.

Which Draco knew he was not. Of _course_ , he was not. Harry had never shown any serious inclination towards signing up for the tournament. Sure, he and Weasley had joked around with the Weasley twins, but he knew that Harry would have never gone through with it. Harry might have never set much store by the rules, but he was too inherently good to sneak around like this in search for his own glory. That was a Slytherin trait, not a Gryffindor one.

That meant, though, that someone else had thrown Harry’s name into the game. _Why_ would anyone do that?

_To hurt him,_ a voice inside Draco told him. _To get him into trouble, or out of the way._

Finally, Draco turned to look at Harry as well, his heart racing. Harry looked stunned and panicked, turning to Hermione and Weasley, muttering, in a voice that carried through the silence of the Great Hall: “I didn’t put my name in. You know I didn’t.”

When both of them just stared back blankly, he glanced over to the Slytherin table, meeting Draco’s gaze with a desperate expression.

Over at the staff table, Professor McGonagall had gotten to her feet, whispering urgently to the Headmaster, and Dumbledore nodded, straightening up as he called: “Harry Potter! Harry, up here if you please!”

Harry looked completely terrified, even as Hermione pushed at him to get to his feet. Before Draco knew it, he was standing, drawing everyone’s eyes to him instead of Harry.

“Professor,” Draco called, his voice shaking. “You can’t honestly think-”

“Please, Draco, sit down,” Dumbledore said, his voice gentle and firm at the same time.

“But-” Draco insisted. “He didn’t-”

“Mr Malfoy,” Snape said dangerously from where he was seated a few chairs away from Dumbledore. “You’d better sit down and be silent before I have to deduct points from Slytherin for your behaviour!”

Draco did not care about the stupid House Cup, though - he needed Dumbledore to understand that Harry was not to blame for this, and that someone was plotting this to hurt him, that he needed to-

“Draco,” Dumbledore said again, clear blue eyes catching grey ones.”Please sit back down. I will handle this.”

Draco gulped, and he looked over to Harry, who was staring back with such a muddled expression that even he had trouble reading it, gratitude and fear being the most prominent emotions among them. Then, he got to his feet and nodded at Draco. Hesitantly, Draco fell back on the bench, watching in horror as Harry made his way towards the staff table, shoulders hunched, not meeting anyone’s eyes. When he stood in front of Dumbledore, he just stared up at him, waiting for instructions, for the Headmaster to offer an explanation or a solution to whatever was happening here. All Dumbledore said, though, was: “Well… through the door, Harry.”

Harry went hesitantly, and when the door fell closed behind him, the murmurs started and grew quickly in volume. Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff had risen from their seats, their faces murderous. Dumbledore, though, raised his hands for everyone to stop speaking.

“The prefects will lead their houses back to their dormitories,” he said. “The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will please return to their own accommodations. I wish you all a good night.” With that, he turned his back on the students, addressing the other teachers in hushed voices that did not carry through the hall.

Draco was on his feet in an instant, pushing through the crowds towards the Gryffindor table. He reached Hermione at the top of it and grasped her shoulders.

“What are we going to do?” Draco asked, his voice high-pitched, the way it got when he was battling a panic attack. “Someone did this to hurt Harry, you know it! What are we-”

“Draco, calm down,” she said, but her own voice was shaky too. “Let’s go somewhere private, we can’t-”

They were both distracted, though, when Weasley pushed past them, his face grim. Draco let go of Hermione and stared at his back, flabbergasted.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, making Weasley halt in an abrupt movement.

“Back to my dormitory,” he spat. “Did you not hear Dumbledore?”

Draco just gaped at him, an unbelievable idea settling in his stomach, so ridiculous that he felt mad for voicing it.

“You don’t believe Harry did this himself, do you?” he asked. “Tell me you’re not really that daft.”

“Who’s the idiot here, Malfoy?!” Weasley called and turned to face Draco again, flushed and angry. Students had stopped in their tracks to watch the scene, but neither Weasley nor Draco paid them any mind. “I know _you’ve_ always worshipped the ground he walked on, but don’t blame me for having a mind of my own.”

“I think I have all the right to question your intelligence!” Draco snapped, rage as strong as he had not felt it in a long time, if ever, racing through him, clouding his mind. “How _dare_ you doubt Harry like that?! After all these years, don’t you know _anything_ about him?!”

“I think I know him better than you do, seeing that I’m the one sharing a dormitory with him, or the one who had him over at his family home for the summer!” Weasley yelled. “You just see what you want to see. You always have, especially when it comes to him.”

Draco took a step towards him, fully ready to punch him in the face, but Hermione grabbed his arm, holding onto him.

“Draco,” she gasped. “Calm down!”

Across from him, Weasley had taken a step towards Draco as well, as if ready to reciprocate, but the Weasley twins stepped into his path, George nonchalant as he said: “I think that’s enough. Ron, you might need a good night’s sleep.”

Fred reached out to clap his brother’s back, but Weasley backed away, glaring at him. Without another word, he turned and left the Great Hall. The twins looked after him, identical frowns on their face.

“Don’t mind him,” George shrugged. “He’ll get over himself.”

“Yeah,” Fred nodded. “Come on, time for beddy bed.” He slung an arm around Ginny, who was lingering nearby, her face alarmed, and they strolled over to the doors, too, leaving only Draco and Hermione.

“That complete prick,” Draco called, outraged. “I can’t believe he-”

“I think you have made enough of a scene, Mr Malfoy,” Snape said icily, approaching him and Hermione with a displeased expression. “20 points from Slytherin for your utter lack of discipline. And detention, tomorrow night, my office.”

Draco rounded on him, ready to snap at him, too, but Hermione was squeezing his arm so tightly it was painful.

“We’re sorry, Professor,” she apologised hastily. “We’ll be on our way.”

She pulled at Draco’s arm, and after a moment, he budged, glaring at Snape as they retreated, out of the Great Hall.

“Listen, Draco,” she hissed, coming to a halt in the entrance hall. “This is not the time and place to talk. Keep your head low. I will meet you here tomorrow at eight. We’ll discuss what to do then.”

“You’re not doubting Harry, too, are you?” he sneered, glowering at her. “You’re not like Weasley, turning on Harry like a complete-”

“Of course I believe Harry!” she snapped. “What do you take me for?!”

“Well, obviously, I needed to check, didn’t I?” Draco grumbled, only slightly pacified.

“Ron is just…” she muttered, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Nevermind that now. If Snape catches us lingering here, we’ll be in real trouble. Go to your dormitory and don’t talk to anyone. You’re not yourself right now.”

“ _Oh really?_ ” Draco scoffed.

“Draco,” she sighed. “Please. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he huffed, pulling his arm out of Hermione’s grip. “Have a _good night_ , then.”

Hermione looked like she was going to respond to his taunt, but thought better of it and just turned to walk up the stairs. Draco glared after her as he went the opposite direction, into the dungeons.

 

“Oh Draco,” Hermione sighed the next morning as she found him sitting on the stairs of the Entrance Hall, waiting for her. “What _happened_ to you?”

Draco winced, staring at the closed doors instead of looking at her.

“I might have run into Crabbe’s fist last night,” he said, pointedly casual.

“I _told_ you not to talk to anyone!” she reminded him sternly.

“Technically, I didn’t,” Draco shrugged. “Nott insulted Harry, so I punched him. Crabbe punched me in return, like the good little bodyguard he is. So I hexed them and went to bed.”

“You will be in such trouble,” she moaned.

“Not until someone releases them from their body binds,” Draco grinned. “And that might still take a while. Zabini just laughed and stepped over them last night.”

“Snape will have you in detention for a month,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“With everything these three have done to _me_ in the past, I think I can be forgiven one little revenge,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Besides, they deserved it.”

“I’m not doubting they did,” she sighed. “Still, the last thing we need now is for you to get in trouble. Not with what happened last night.”

“Have you spoken to Harry?” he asked immediately.

“No,” Hermione winced. “They were throwing some kind of victory party in the common room last night, and I really didn’t feel like hanging around. I was thinking we could get some breakfast to take away and take him for a walk, so we can talk to him privately.”

“Let’s do that,” Draco nodded, getting to his feet the moment he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Weasley walking down the stairs, a stony expression on his face. He completely ignored them as he passed them by, heading for the Great Hall.

“Ron,” Hermione sighed. “Please, can’t we just talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Hermione,” he snapped, turning to glare at her. “If you want to believe Harry, it’s your choice. I, for my part, am sick of him.”

“Well, I always said he’d be better off without you,” Draco sneered. “A shame he didn’t listen to me sooner. He could have saved himself that betrayal.”

“Betrayal?!” Weasley called. “ _He’s_ the one who went behind our backs to put his name into the Goblet. _He’s_ the one who has been bathing in his fame for _years and years_ , but apparently that was not enough for him anymore, was it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Draco snarled, his voice rising again, drowning Hermione’s attempts of trying to get in between them. “ _Bathing in his fame?! Harry?!_ Have you actually met him?!”

“Oh, I know he’s perfect in your eyes,” Weasley scoffed. “This played out nicely for you, did it not? You never wanted me around! I don’t know if it was because my family is poor or I’m not special like Harry or smart like Hermione, but you always wanted to be rid of me, and now you have your wish!”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, her tone desperate, but they both ignored her.

“Are you barking?!” Draco laughed. “I never said a word against your family! And who was the one who wanted to oust me from the start, or in second year?”

“You know what,” Weasley rolled his eyes, turning away from them. “Nevermind. Just stay away from me, both you and Harry. I want nothing to do with the lot of you anymore.”

“Fine!” Draco yelled. “No one’s going to come running after _you_ , anyway!”

“Draco!” Hermione groaned. “Lower your voice, you’ll wake the whole castle! Wait here, I’ll be right back!” With that, she hurried after Weasley into the Great Hall.

It took only a minute or two before she was back, a pack of sandwiches in her hand, a troubled look on her face.

“Come on, let’s go up and wait near the Gryffindor tower,” she sighed, not stopping to wait for Draco’s reply, so he had to scramble to follow her.

“Can you believe Weasley?!” Draco hissed, taking two steps at a time trying to keep up with her.

“He’ll get over himself eventually,” Hermione muttered. “He’s just…”

“An utter prick?” Draco supplied. “A complete bonehead? A-”

“One really can’t talk to you rationally when it concerns Harry,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You’re like a guard dog or something. You feel a threat and you attack.”

“If you want to compare me with a creature, use dragons or something cool,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You have my name as a clue, for a start. If you weren’t aware of it, ‘Draco’ doesn’t translate to ‘lap dog’.”

“Is it a lot of work, being that contrary?” she countered.

“No,” Draco sneered. “It comes to me naturally.”

They had barely reached the portrait of the Fat Lady who he knew guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common room before it swung open and Harry burst through it, almost colliding with the two of them.

“Hi,” Hermione said, holding the sandwiches she had brought for him to see. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Good idea,” Harry sighed, sounding so grateful that it tore at Draco’s heart. Then he got a good look at Draco and asked: "What happened to your face?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Nevermind," he muttered.

They made their way out of the castle and out onto the grounds, walking without aim as they munched on their sandwiches and listened to what Harry told them about last night’s events.

“Maxime and Karkaroff think that I - or someone else - put my name in to give Hogwarts higher chances at winning,” he said, a frown on his face. “Moody thinks it might be a plot to get me killed. And that whoever put my name in, it couldn’t have been a student, because they needed to confound the Goblet into forgetting that only three champions were to be chosen.”

“I don’t hold much stock on what he says, but I am inclined to believe him in this case,” Draco replied grimly. “I mean, first your scar hurts, then the attacks at the World Cup, and now this? It’s gotta be connected somehow.” There was a moment of tense silence before he continued: “They won’t let you compete, will they?”

“They will,” Harry answered, catching his eyes. Draco gaped, feeling cold all over.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he muttered. “They can’t play into the hands of whoever plotted this by letting you put yourself out there! Doesn’t Dumbledore realise how dangerous this is?!”

“I don’t think Dumbledore _can_ stop it, Draco,” Hermione injected quietly. “You heard what he said at the feast yesterday. The Goblet of Fire provides a binding magical contract. Harry has to compete.”

“But surely the spell won’t hold if he didn’t put his name in himself?” Draco argued. “ _He_ didn’t sign up! Someone else did! Let them compete, for all I care!”

“So you believe me?” Harry asked, his voice small.

“Of course we believe you!” Draco assured him, his voice indignant. “I’ve known you for three years. Reckless might be your middle name at times, but this is a stretch even for you.”

“Of course I knew immediately it wasn’t you, Harry,” Hermione agreed. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!”

“What about Ron?” Harry asked, looking from the way Draco’s face turned stony to Hermione, who was avoiding his gaze. “Have you seen him?”

“Erm… yes… he was at breakfast,” Hermione said shiftily.

“Does he still think I entered myself?” Harry demanded.

“Forget Weasley,” Draco spat, crossing his arms in front of his chest to keep away the chill of the early morning. “You don’t need him.”

“I don’t think he _really_ believes you put in your name, Harry,” Hermione sighed, ignoring Draco.

“Speak for yourself,” Draco muttered. Again, she continued as if he hadn't spoken.

“It’s just…” she continued, trailing off, biting her lip. It was obvious she was hesitant to say what was on her mind.

“Just _what_ , Hermione?” Harry prodded, an edge to his voice.

“Oh, Harry, isn’t it obvious?” she burst out. “He’s jealous!”

_“Jealous?!_ ” Draco and Harry both called incredulously.

“Look,” Hermione sighed. “It’s always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it’s not your fault,” she added when both of them opened their mouth to argue. “I know you don’t ask for it... but - well - you know, Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous - he’s always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it-”

“He has no right to complain!” Draco interrupted furiously. “He of all people, as Harry’s friend, should know that being famous isn’t all that great to begin with, and how much Harry struggles with all the attention! To blame him for it is outrageous!”

“Not everyone is as rational as you, Draco,” Hermione reminded him. “Ron’s always wanted attention, deep down. To be admired by people.”

“That’s no excuse,” Draco shook his head. “No, Hermione, _listen to me!_ You’ve only met me after I became friends with Harry and started to change, but as a kid, I was a prat. I don’t mind saying it. I was spoiled and arrogant and wanted everyone to kneel at my feet, basically. It had to do with the way I was raised, and the Malfoy name, you know the drill. But fact is, meeting Harry put things into perspective for me. I learned that having a well-known name brings trouble more often than not. I can count the good things that have happened to Harry because of who he is off on one hand. You need to be spectacularly stupid to spend all this time with him and not know how much he hates the spotlight. And for Weasley to still manage to be _jealous_ of all of that, especially when most likely, someone is trying to _kill_ Harry, and not for the first time, either…” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t need to understand that, and I won’t let you tell me otherwise.”

It seemed like Hermione had nothing to say to his little speech. She just looked at him sadly, and Draco turned away from her to face Harry instead. The other boy seemed angry like Draco, his lips drawn into a tight line, but he could also see how hurt and betrayed he felt. Those green eyes hit nothing, not from Draco, at least.

“Draco’s right,” he said finally, his voice bitter. “Tell him from me I’ll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he’s welcome to it… people gawking at my forehead everywhere I go…”

“I’m not telling him anything,” Hermione replied, frowning at him disapprovingly. “Tell him yourself, it’s the only way to sort this out.”

“I’m not running around after him trying to make him grow up!” Harry argued, his voice rising. “Maybe he’ll believe I’m not enjoying myself I’ve got my neck broken, or-”

Draco flinched at his words, and Hermione interrupted him. “That’s not funny,” she said. “That’s not funny at all.”

“We can’t let you get hurt,” Draco agreed, his throat tightening in fear. “Did they say anything about the tasks? Can we do anything to prepare you for it?”

“Not really, no,” Harry grumbled. “The first task is November twenty-fourth, and they won’t tell us any details about it. They want to test our courage or something like that.”

“As if you needed any testing in that area,” Draco grumbled. “The least they could do is give you a hint. You are the youngest by far and you haven’t even signed up yourself!”

“Maxime and Karkaroff are never going to agree to that,” Harry sighed heavily. “They’re already thinking that Hogwarts and I are conspiring to cheat the hell out of this tournament, remember?”

“Karkaroff knows my father,” Draco recalled suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “What if it’s him doing this? What if there is a huge plot, and my father is involved, and-”

“Draco,” Hermione said quietly, touching his shoulder. “Calm down. Not every evil in the world is connected to your father.”

“You say that now,” Draco hissed. “But there is a trend, you have to admit.”

“I think what you need to do now, Harry,” Hermione said, catching the other boy’s eyes. “is write to Sirius.”

“Are you mad?!” Harry called. He looked around for a moment to make sure nobody was around and lowered his voice as he continued: “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He’ll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone’s entered me for the Triwizard Tournament-”

“He’d want you to tell him,” Hermione insisted. “He’s going to find out anyway-”

“How?”

“Harry, this isn’t going to be kept quiet. This tournament is famous, and you’re famous, I’ll be really surprised if there isn’t anything in the _Daily Prophet_ about you competing… you’re already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know… and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would.”

“She’s right,” Draco frowned. “You have to tell him. Not to mention that he might have some insight about what is happening. I also think you should write to Professor Lupin.”

“Fine, I’ll write to Sirius,” Harry muttered, sounding annoyed. “Draco, can I use Aquila?”

“Of course,” Draco nodded. “If I can use Hedwig in turn. I want to write to Mother and ask if she noticed anything strange about Father.”

And so they made their way to the owlery, both quickly writing out their letters and attaching them to the respective owls. As they watched the two of them fly away on the horizon, Draco entwined their fingers.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told Harry. “We’ve been through so much together, and we will get through this, too. I know we will.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathed, sending him a smile as he squeezed his hand in return, but it did not reach his eyes. "So, what  _did_ happen to your face?"

Draco snorted, shrugging. 

"Crabbe's retaliation for my punching his master. But believe me, I paid them back sufficiently. So it's nothing you need to worry about."

"Somehow, I really doubt that," Harry said with a small smile, but he let the topic drop, running his thumb over the back of Draco's hand affectionately.


	6. Of Dragons and Weasels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back with the next chapter, this time containing the first task of the tournament. I think it's a tad bit longer than usual, but for obvious reasons, there was no cutting it in the middle. Anyways, I hope you enjoy Draco's angst, which is basically what this chapter should be called. Poor boy.

 

The week following Harry's nomination as champion was, quite frankly, hell. For one, most of the school - save the Gryffindor House - turned against Harry, judging him both for alleged cheating and stealing the real champion’s thunder. Especially Nott was insufferable, insulting Harry left and right (edged on by the additional detention Draco received for hexing them after they were found), but for once, he was not the only one. It all spiralled out of control when Rita Skeeter published a horrible article about Harry's participation in the tournament, turning him into the joke of the school.

The worst for Harry, though, was very clearly Weasley's betrayal. While for Draco, Weasley was worse than dead, his friend very clearly hoped, deep inside, that the other boy would still somehow come around and apologise. It was written all over his face how much he missed him, even if he tried to play it off as anger, and if anything, that made Draco even more furious with the red-headed git. Harry had enough on his mind – Merlin knew he did not need freaking  _ Weasley  _ to put a bloody cherry on the top. Hermione, on the other hand, desperately tried to mediate between them, and became more exasperated with their lack of compliance every time her efforts hit a wall.

The adults around them weren't as much of a help as Draco had originally hoped, either. Sirius, when he finally answered, told Harry to meet him for a chat on November 22 nd at 1 AM in the Gryffindor common room. Apart from the obvious question – which was about Sirius' sanity, when he was evidently planning to enter the bloody school for a chat with his godson despite the sum on his head – Draco was frustrated that they couldn't expect any support from him until  _ two days before the first task _ . How the heck was that to help Harry in any way?!

His mother's letter was no more helpful. She claimed to not have noticed any changes in his father’s behavior, ' _ though it is difficult to notice anything about him when I usually make a conscious effort to be on the other side of the Manor at any given time of the day, an art that I perfected in the last couple of months, if I may say so myself' _ . She promised to interrogate the house elves, but Draco doubted that would yield any results. After Dobby, his father had learned his lessons about entrusting the help with incriminating information.

After some more nagging without a satisfactory response, Draco finally took it into his own hands to contact Professor Lupin. The answer came rather promptly, at least, though it was far from the treasure vault of answers Draco had hoped for.

_ Dear Draco _ ,

_ I heard about Harry's situation from Dumbledore, and I have to admit that I am very concerned. We all are. As for now, no one seems to be sure of who is plotting against Harry and why, but please let me assure you that it is being investigated. _

_ As for the tournament itself, I am sorry to disappoint you. Dumbledore has not entrusted me with any details regarding the tasks, and I am not blessed with an extensive network of contacts that would help me find out. In general, I would advise Harry to practice defensive spells as much as he can. Otherwise, we can just hope for the best. _

_ I am sorry that I can't be more of a help, Draco. If you should feel the need to talk to anyone, though, I will be here to answer your letters, I promise. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Remus Lupin _

So, to say Draco was a nervous wreck would be the understatement of the year. He spent all of his time in the library with Harry and Hermione, and in between their mountains of homework, they researched defensive spells that could be of use to Harry in the tournament.

Sometimes, they were joined by Viktor Krum, though he talked even less around Harry and Hermione than he did when it was only him and Draco at the Slytherin table. Still, considering how the rest of the school treated Harry (and, by extension, Draco and Hermione), he was amazed by the effort the Durmstrang student put forth to get along with his direct rival.

It had been the Monday morning after Halloween when Draco had first come face to face with him again after the announcement. Viktor had seemed unsure about whether he was welcome to sit with Draco or not – he had stood across from him awkwardly, a frown on his face as he studied Draco. The Slytherin had bristled at his hesitancy and spat out: "Harry didn't put his name in. If you think he did, you can move right on, you know."

Viktor had wavered for a moment, frown deepening in thought before he'd nodded once and sat down in his usual seat.

"Okay," was all he'd sad, leaving Draco to gape at him.

"Okay?" he'd repeated. "Just like that?"

Viktor had shrugged and said: "You are his best friends, are you not? If you say he did not do it, I vill take your vord for it. I do not know him. I cannot judge."

It was at that moment, with a fierce rush of gratitude, that Draco had decided that Viktor Krum was his friend. So the next time they had crossed ways at the library, he'd waved him over to their table, much to the surprise of both Harry and Hermione as well as Viktor himself. He had not let it deter him, though, introducing them all to each other and assuring Viktor that he was welcome to sit with them anytime he wanted. Hermione had vented at him about that later – "How can we study in peace when he is around?! Have you seen the hordes of fans following him everywhere?!" - but nobody had directly disagreed, and so it had become natural for Viktor to join them a couple of times a week, studying quietly in their midst. It satisfied Draco to think about how much Weasley would be raging every time he saw them together.

By the week before the first task, though, all their nerves were lying bare. Harry became more and more irritable and taciturn, while Draco could not seem to be able to stop talking in circles, a tendency that Hermione thankfully shared.

"Aren't you nervous at all?" Draco asked Viktor Friday evening at dinner. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"Vorrying von't help," Viktor shrugged. "I can just do my best and hope it is enough. Quidditch, the tournament. It is the same everyvere."

"I wished I could do that," Draco sighed, pushing his potatoes back and forth on his plate moodily. "I don't even care about the outcome of the tournament, really. I just want Harry to come out of it alive. No offence," he added quickly, making Viktor smile for a moment.

"None taken," he assured him. "Potter has it hard. He is young. Younger than the rest of us."

"Someone is out to get him," Draco sighed. "We just don't know who it is. And the tournament will be the perfect opportunity to hurt him."

Viktor did not say anything, but he was frowning, watching Draco thoughtfully.

"Anyways," Draco shrugged, changing the subject. "Are you coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"Hogsmeade?" Viktor asked, puzzled.

"Oh, you wouldn't know," Draco realised, shaking his head. "Hogwarts students are allowed to visit the village on the other side of the lake every couple of weekends. Maybe you could come with us? We could show you around."

"I vould like that," Viktor nodded. "Are you all going?"

"Yes. Me, Harry and Hermione," he clarified. "Why? You don't have a problem with Harry, do you?"

"No," Viktor replied quickly. "Just vondering. I thought maybe Potter and his girlfriend vould vant to be alone."

"His girlfriend?" Draco blinked, confused. "What do you-" He remembered Rita Skeeter’s article then, and her implication about Harry and Hermione, and rolled his eyes. "Hermione and Harry aren't together," he told him. "That awful reporter made all of that up. They aren't interested in each other like that, believe me."

"Oh," Viktor frowned, looking at him intently. "Then, you and her...?"

" _ No! _ " Draco called, scandalised. "Merlin, no. Hermione is brilliant, but that would be like dating a sister." He shuddered.

"I see," Viktor said, and something flickered over his face. It was then, that Draco remembered the furtive looks he’d seen the older boy throwing at Hermione over the table at the library, and something clicked together in his head.

"Wait," he asked, eyes widening. "Do you like Hermione?" Viktor cleared his throat and studied his half-empty plate with immense interest. "But you never talk to her!" Draco blurted out, before remembering Ginny and her embarrassed silence whenever she was in Harry's presence. "Oh, yeah. I guess that's why, then."

"I don't know vot to say," Viktor grumbled, and Draco could spot the slight flush on his face. "And I thought she vos vith Potter."

"Well, she's not," Draco smiled. "So maybe make an effort to talk to her from now on. Hermione isn't someone to be impressed by your fame or your skills on the pitch. You'll have to actually talk to win her over."

"You think I haff a chance?" Viktor asked, finally looking at Draco again.

"Honestly? I have no idea," Draco admitted, grimacing in apology. "We've never talked about her taste in boys before, and she's never shown any particular interest in anyone. But why not? Be nice, and show some enthusiasm for elf-rights. You might have a shot."

"Elf-rights?" Viktor asked, looking confused.

"Ask her about it," Draco laughed. "It will give you something to talk about.”

And this was how they ended up in the Three Broomsticks the next afternoon, the four of them occupying a table while Hermione introduced Viktor on the long-term aims of S.P.E.W.. Draco sat across from Harry, watching as his friend stared darkly into space, pointedly ignoring Weasley sitting with his brothers on the other side of the room. It had taken a lot of pleading to talk Harry into coming out with them at all – he had been set on staying in the castle, at first, and then, he had insisted on using his invisibility cloak. Only Viktor coming along had made him drop that idea, but his fear had been proven correct when they had spent the first part of the day dodging Rita Skeeter in the streets.

"I thought today would be a good distraction," Draco sighed, finally making Harry look up at him. "I'm sorry. Maybe it was stupid to force you into coming with us."

"It's not your fault," Harry made a face. "I know you just wanted to help. You always do."

Draco reached out his hand, and Harry took it without thought, entwining their fingers.

"Sirius might have some insights when you talk to him tonight," Draco whispered, so lowly that only Harry could hear him.

"When he doesn't get caught in the attempt to see me, you mean," Harry muttered.

Draco grimaced and shrugged awkwardly, but he was kept from answering when Hagrid and Professor Moody turned up at their table. He could see the good eye of their DADA Professor linger on the way their hands were linked, but Draco refused to let go, his jaw set.

"Hello, Professor," he said politely. "Hello, Hagrid."

"Hullo, kiddoes," Hagrid smiled.

Moody ignored Draco completely, instead leaning over the table to look at the S.P.E.W. materials Hermione had spread out over the table. It distracted both Hermione and Viktor enough that they did not notice when Hagrid leaned down to whisper to Harry. Draco leaned in as well and was just able to catch his words.

"Harry, meet me tonight at me cabin. Wear that Cloak."

Before Harry could return anything, though, they were bidding their goodbyes and leaving both Harry and Draco to stare after them in confusion.

“What was that about?” Draco asked under his breath when Hermione and Viktor had returned to their conversation. 

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “He’s never asked me to come see him that late at night.”

“Maybe he wants to tip you off about the first task,” Draco whispered, hope rising deep within him. “Maybe he heard something and wants to tell you.”

“You think?” Harry frowned, looking unsure.

“It’s possible,” Draco shrugged. “You should go, I think. Hear what he has to say.”

“What about Sirius?” Harry asked, lowering his voice even more.

“Oh,” Draco said, biting his lip in thought as he remembered the appointment Harry had with his godfather just an hour after Hagrid had asked to meet him. “Well. You’ll have to hurry, then.”

 

When Harry came down for breakfast the next morning, he quickly gathered up both Draco and Hermione to take a walk over the grounds and tell them what had happened the previous night. Hagrid had shown Harry to a settling of dragons deep in the forest, freshly delivered from Romania by the hands of Charlie Weasley and his colleagues. Apparently, the core of the first task was to get past these dragons somehow. Draco felt faint at these news, but he had no time to recover as Harry continued telling them about Sirius, and how he had warned him about Karkaroff’s Death Eater past. Draco was less surprised about this part - he had been aware of Karkaroff’s connection to his father, after all, but the way Sirius had spun the net from the Durmstrang Headmaster to an alleged attack on Moody before he had started his teaching job at Hogwarts, the happenings at the World Cup, and to a Ministry witch disappearing in Albania, where Voldemort was last rumoured to be hiding, terrified Draco more than he could put into words. 

Hermione’s approach, though, was more practical. 

“Let’s just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening,” she said briskly. “and then we can worry about Karkaroff.”

It appeared that Sirius had been about to explain to him how he could subdue a dragon with the help of one “simple spell”, but he had been interrupted by Weasley, of all people, who had heard some noise from the common room and had come to investigate, cutting their conversation short. Draco was still raging about Weasley ( _ “His brother brought the damn dragons here, and he did not think it necessary to drop you a warning?!” _ ) as they entered the library, ready to comb it for any spells that could help Harry get past a dragon. He held in, though, when he spotted Viktor studying quietly at one of the tables, not far from a group of admirers. He caught Harry’s wrist and caught his eyes.

“Harry,” he whispered. “I think you should tell Viktor what you know.”

“I think he knows already,” Harry answered. “Karkaroff saw the dragons, as well as Madame Maxime. He was there last night.”

“Still,” Draco frowned. “I think it’s fair to even the field. Dragons are no joke. Imagine if he gets seriously hurt and we could have prevented it.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, biting his lip in thought and then adding: “You think I should tell Diggory, too? After all, he seems to be the only one left completely in the dark.”

Draco made a face. His dislike for Diggory battled for the sense of fairness Draco had without a doubt caught from Harry, and he sighed as the latter won over. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I think you should.”

Harry hummed in agreement, and then went over to ask Viktor for a word alone. Hermione and Draco, meanwhile, filed out through the shelves in search of books about dragons. 

 

They spent the whole afternoon in the library, going through all kinds of spellbooks and reference books about dragon they could get their hands on, with limited success. They all took some more books up to their quarters and Draco stayed up half of the night reading, but he came across nothing that would be of any use for Harry. He tried to suppress the rising panic inside of him best he could - it had to be  _ possible _ , after all, and Sirius had said a simple spell would do. All they had to do is find it. 

It wasn’t until Monday, when he met up with his friends for Care of Magical Creatures, that they presented him with an answer so obvious and easy that he wanted to hit himself for not thinking of it right away. 

“It was Moody who gave me the idea,” Harry explained in hushed whispers as they made their way down to Hagrid’s hut. “All I need is to practice the summoning charm to summon my Firebolt. And then I can outfly the dragon.”

“But isn’t the summoning charm the one you’ve been failing at for weeks?” Draco muttered, his stomach falling. 

“It’s not that difficult of a spell, though,” Hermione quipped from Harry’s other side. “If we put all our strength into it, I’m sure Harry will be able to do it by tomorrow afternoon.”

So that’s what they did. They skipped lunch to practice with Harry, and when he hadn’t gotten the hang of it by the time their next classes started, Draco decided to skip Arithmancy to stay with Harry and practice (much to Hermione’s disapproval, but she knew better than to try and sway Draco’s decision, much less Harry’s). When by the time Hermione returned, Harry had still not made as much progress as Draco would have liked, she forced them to have some dinner before they searched for an empty classroom and continued. They only retreated to their dormitories around midnight, chased away by Peeves, but by then, Draco was pretty sure Harry would be fine. It had taken some time, but he had grown better steadily, and when they parted, he had successfully cast the spell about a handful of times, and with some more practice up at the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, he was bound to be well prepared for the next day. 

Still, Draco was restless, turning and tossing throughout the night and getting up at the break of dawn, unable to stay still any longer. He walked the castle, visited Aquila and Hedwig in the owlery, and when it was finally time for breakfast, he sat at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Hermione, the need to be close to them too overwhelming to resist. He suffered through a double session of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Moody’s incessant taunting and returned to the Gryffindor table for lunch, sitting so close to Harry that their shoulders were brushing whenever one of them moved, right up to the point when Professor McGonagall came over to pick him up and take him away. Draco pulled him into a tight hug before they parted, whispering words of encouragement and pleading with him to be careful, and then he finally forced himself to let go of his friend. He watched him leave with a troubled expression, panic bubbling inside of him. He had never just sat back and watched Harry walk into danger. In the past, he had always been there with him.

“He’ll be fine,” Hermione whispered, taking Draco’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “We did all we could. H's got the spell down. Now we can just hope for the best.”

Draco nodded, taking deep, steadying breaths and squeezing her fingers in return. Across the hall, he caught Viktor's eyes as he was following after Karkaroff on their way out of the castle. Draco smiled at him and mouthed well-wishes. Viktor smiled back and nodded before he, too, disappeared out of sight. 

 

When they followed the crowds down into the forest not long after, Draco was a nervous wreck. Hermione had hooked her arm through his, though whether it was for her own comfort or to keep Draco from fidgeting, he had no idea. They did not talk on the way, both tense and anxious, and no one else approached them, either, though both Longbottom and Ginny followed right after them, watching them closely.

When they finally reached the clearing where the dragons were kept, Draco saw that something like a makeshift stadium had been erected for the occasion. Students were filing into the stands, and Draco let Hermione lead him towards a pair of free seats without paying attention, his eyes instead wandering over the spouts of flames that kept appearing between the trees south of the stands, and the big, white tent in which the champions were supposedly being instructed for the task ahead. 

Hermione almost pushed Draco into his seat, and only then did he realise that they were surrounded by the Weasley family: Ginny was sitting to his left, probably having followed after them, and in the seats in front of them sat the twins and their friend Jordan, as well as Weasley with Thomas, Finnigan and Longbottom. Draco glared at the back of Weasley’s head with half a mind to snap something at him in order to relieve some of his tension, but Hermione’s eyes on his face stopped him.

Instead, he watched as helpers, among them Charlie Weasley, led the first dragon into the enclosure. It was a Swedish Short-Snout - Draco knew a bit about dragons, his name having caused a fascination with them in his childhood, so he was able to identify the most common ones. He watched as the dragon settled over a nest of eggs, watching the crowds with suspicion, the blue of her hide shining in the light. 

Then, the jury began to settle in the designated area, almost straight across from them - Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime, Crouch, and then, last of all, Bagman. Bagman cast a Sonorus Charm upon himself, the way he had done at the Quidditch World Cup, and his voice boomed through the clearing.

“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!” The crowds cheered in response, and it made Draco sick. How could they all feel so excited about this, when Draco was about to throw up in fear? “For this first round, we are going to test the champions’ daring and nerves! Each of them has been randomly assigned one dragon to face. Their task is to snatch the Golden Egg from the nest their dragon is guarding. Points will be awarded to each champion by every member of the jury after their turn, 10 being the highest mark to give. But enough talk now! Let’s call in the first of our champions!”

Hermione reached out to link their hands, clinging to Draco as they both held their breaths.

“The first one to get his turn will be Cedric Diggory!” Bagman announced. 

Crouch blew into a whistle, and then, Diggory stepped out into the enclosure.

Draco had felt a fierce dislike for Diggory ever since he had been defeated by him on the pitch, but now, as he saw the older boy step out to face the dragon, he found that none of that mattered. Maybe he could have approached this whole tournament differently, had he not been so emotionally invested. Maybe he could have sat on the edge of his seat in excitement, cheering for Viktor and booing for Diggory, instead of feeling paralyzed with fear and worry. Now, though, he just wished for no one to get hurt. Not even Diggory.

Draco watched as Diggory stood, apparently glued to the spot, watching the dragon as she hissed and squirmed, ready to attack the moment he approached her. It seemed to take an immense effort for the Hufflepuff to tear his eyes away from the beast and let them travel over the ground of the enclosure. Draco was unsure of what he was searching for, until Diggory held in, gauging a medium sized rock halfway between the dragon and him. Then, he pointed his wand at it and called: “ _ Canifors! _ ”

The effect was immediate: The rock turned into a grey labrador, which whined and quivered in front of the dragon. The dragon hissed in a threatening manner, and when the dog still didn’t move, she spewed red flames at it. 

Barking, the labrador ran into the opposite direction, and the dragon rose from her position and into the air, taking off after the dog. This left the path clear for Diggory, who immediately sprinted for the nest, in a hurry to get his hands on the Golden Egg.

The dragon, though, came to a halt when it registered the sound of footsteps. She turned in the air, and let out an angry cry at the sight of Diggory so close to her precious eggs. She dove back down at him and the nest, fueled by rage, and spew a tongue of fire in Diggory’s direction. Diggory lunged for the egg, and then, flames covered him from sight.

At his sides, Hermione and Ginny screamed. He could hear Weasley yell something from his seat, sounding horrified. Draco closed his eyes, unable to look. When the crowds started cheering, though, he opened them again to find Diggory on his feet, the egg in hand. His robes were smoking and patches of his skin had clearly been burned red and raw, but apart from that, he seemed unharmed. The dragon keepers hurried forward to subdue the dragon, and Professor Sprout met Diggory at the entrance of the enclosure, rushing him into the white tent in a motherly manner. 

He only returned minutes later, a healing paste dapped onto his wounds, and Bagman was interrupted in his analysis of Diggory’s performance to announce the marks from the judges. Madame Maxime was the first to raise her wand into the air, and a large, silvery eight appeared above her head. The other judges followed her example. Crouch marked Diggory with seven points, as did Bagman, while Dumbledore and Karkaroff both joined Maxime with eight points each. Automatically, Draco did the math in his head. Thirty-eight out of fifty points for Diggory. Not bad. 

The dragon keepers were now leading the second dragon into the enclosure. This one was entirely green from head to toe, and Draco recognized her as a Common Welsh Green. 

“One down, three to go!” Bagman called, far too cheerful for Draco’s liking, as Crouch blew his whistle once more. “Miss Delacour, if you please!”

The girl was incredibly pale as she entered the enclosure, trembling as she clutched her wand. As frightened as she was, though, her pose was proud and determined, and it took her only a moment to slip into action. She pointed her wand at the dragon, who hissed at her in response - but not for long. The spell she used was nonverbal, but as soon as the magic hit the creature, it began to sway. Draco, despite his tension, was quite impressed as he watched the dragon’s eyes droop and with an exaggerated yawn, she made herself comfortable on the ground next to her eggs, curled in on herself, her head resting on her front legs. 

The Beauxbatons champion stood, watching for a moment longer as the dragon dropped off into a deep sleep. Only when she was sure that her spell had taken full effect did she move towards the eggs. 

It would have gone splendidly indeed, had the dragon not started snoring the moment she bent down to pick up the golden egg. With the soft snore of the creature, fire spilled out of her nostrils, and Delacour’s robes caught fire. She yelped, jumping back, hastening to put the fire out with a well-aimed  _ Aguamenti _ . She was more careful after that, taking a moment to observe the breathing pattern of the dragon and moving forward only when the dragon was sure to breathe in. She managed to evade the flames on her second attempt and proudly presented the golden egg to the jury.

The crowd cheered, and Draco took a shaky breath. Hermione squeezed his hand. Delacour, like Diggory, escaped to the tent for a few moments, led there by Professor Flitwick, only to return a moment later to receive her marks. From her own Headmistress, she was awarded nine points - which did not surprise Draco in the slightest. To him, having the Heads of each school as part of the jury was a ridiculous tradition, sure to end in an unfair ranking, because naturally, they would never throw their own champion under a bus. Delacour might have earned her points this time around, but he was quite sure that Maxime would still have awarded her the same marks had her pretty face been charred to coal. Crouch, Dumbledore and Karkaroff both marked her the same they had for Diggory - seven, eight and eight - but Bagman ended up giving her only six points, which threw Draco a little. In his eyes, she had performed just as well as Diggory, if not better. He would not have put Bagman of all people for that strict a judge.

His attention was diverted, though, when the keepers brought in the next dragon. This one was slightly smaller in size than the others had been, and of a bright red colour. A Chinese Fireball. 

Crouch blew his whistle, and Bagman called: “And here comes Mr Krum!”

Draco cursed under his breath, and Hermione held his hand a little tighter.  _ Of course _ Harry was last. Fate needed Draco to die of nerves, after all. 

Viktor’s face was serene as he stepped out of the tent, but unlike the other two, he did not look scared. Draco held a newfound respect for this recent addition to his circle of friends. The way Viktor handled both the pressure and the threat of danger was indeed remarkable. 

Like Delacour before him, Viktor did not lose any time. He immediately pointed his wand at the dragon and shot a spell. It hit the dragon right between her eyes, and she howled in pain. She thrashed and spit fire in random directions, front paws clawing at her face, but Viktor was already moving, dodging her to get to the nest. He managed to retrieve the golden egg just before the dragon stomped down onto the egg right next to it, breaking its shell. Draco flinched, and the dragon keepers immediately intervened, leading the agonized dragon away before she did any more damage to her own eggs. Viktor, on the other hand, remained unharmed and stayed to await the jury’s judgement. 

At first, his marks seemed about identical to Diggory’s (Eight from Maxime and Dumbledore, Seven from Crouch and Bagman), which Draco, despite his slight bias, perceived as fair - while Diggory had been hurt, Viktor had ended up damaging the eggs. In Draco's opinion, Delacour’s had been the best performance yet. That was until it was Karkaroff’s turn to give judgement, though. With a booming smile, he conjured a large, shimmering ten to hover in the air, and Draco rolled his eyes. As happy as he was to have a friend in lead, it was so obvious what Karkaroff was doing. This was  _ exactly _ why this jury system was corrupt.

Draco had no time to judge Karkaroff further, though, because then, the dragon keepers led in the last dragon, and Draco’s heart stopped. This creature was larger than the preceding ones, and she was already spewing flames in all directions, aggressively defending herself from any approach. Her scales were mud-brown and covered with sharp horns the size of Draco’s wand - enough to pierce the skin of every wizard approaching her. She threateningly swung her tail at one of the keepers, who was just able to dodge the assault and avoid being punctured. 

“Oh god,” Hermione moaned. 

“I can’t watch this,” Draco choked out. 

“Don’t you dare leave me alone,” she hissed, her fingers tightening to the point of pain. 

Draco felt eyes on his face, and he looked up to catch Weasley’s gaze. The ginger git had turned towards them, his freckled skin almost green, an expression of horror on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Draco sneered at him and spat: “Don’t you dare act like you  _ care _ now, Weasley, or I swear I will hex you right this instant.”

“Draco,” Hermione sighed. “Please. Not now.”

Weasley had closed his mouth again, but he was still looking at them, conflict written all over his features. He only turned at the sound of Crouch’s whistle. 

“And last but not least,” Bagman’s voice carried through the enclosure. “Our youngest champion, Harry Potter!”

The sound Draco let out was close to a whine, and Hermione’s free hand grabbed his arm, apparently in need of further support.

“He can do this,” she muttered, despite her obvious fear. “He’s prepared, and he’s got an undeniable knack for survival. He will be fine.”

Draco could not speak. His eyes were glued to the entrance of the white tent, and then, the flap lifted and his best friend stepped out. 

The look on Harry’s face was one he had seen before, plenty of times. It was the same expression he had worn when they had made their way down the trapdoor to retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone, or when he had run to save Sirius only a couple of months ago. There was fear, yes, and nerves, but they were subdued by determination and purpose in a way Draco knew he himself would never quite be able to manage. It was something inherent to Harry, this kind of courage and calm in the face of danger. 

For a moment, Harry just stood, taking in the scene in front of him, but then, he raised his wand.

_ “Accio  _ Firebolt!” he called.

Draco held his breath as they waited. Time seemed to stand still. Hermione was still clinging to him, and he could feel her fingers tightening momentarily, but he did not feel any pain. His whole being was focused on Harry down in the enclosure. 

And then, he saw the broom appear in the distance. Relief spread through Draco and he took a shaky breath, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The crowds were shouting around them, and Bagman was yelling, but Draco couldn’t focus on anything but Harry.

Harry mounted his broom and then he was up into the air, and just like that, all the tension seemed to leave Harry’s body. Draco had always known that he was a natural-born flyer, had always loved watching Harry on the pitch, but it was something else, watching Harry descend towards the dragon as if the creature was nothing but an opposing player in a match, needing to be outflown. 

The noises around Draco returned to him as if a bubble of nerves had burst, and he could hear the cheers of the crowd. In the row in front of them, Weasley was on his feet, shouting: “YES, THAT'S IT! COME ON, HARRY!” Bagman was almost wetting himself at the jury table, yelling: “Great Scott, he can fly! Are you watching this, Mr Krum?”

Harry was - in want of a stronger word - absolutely _marvellous_. He lured the dragon into the air through intricate manoeuvres and dodged each flame expertly. Draco was just starting to feel confident, opening his mouth to cheer Harry on with the rest of the crowd when the dragon lashed out for Harry with her tail and hit. 

Both Hermione and Ginny screamed at his side, and Draco was frozen, watching as if in slow motion as Harry held himself on his broom, zooming out of reach. There was a cut on his shoulder, and blood was staining his torn robes, but he was gritting his teeth and holding himself steady on his broom.

The injury did not deter Harry from his strategy. He continued luring the dragon up into the air and away from her eggs until finally, it worked. The majestic Horntail spread her wings and rose up into the air the same moment as Harry dove down. Due to her size, Harry was much agiler and able to dodge her easily, and then, before Draco knew it, he had picked up the egg and was soaring away, out of reach.

The crowd was out of control, cheering so loudly that it deafened Draco to all other noise, but he had eyes only for Harry. He watched as the other boy landed near the entrance to the enclosure, where he was welcomed by McGonagall, Hagrid and Moody. They led him into the tent and out of sight,

“He did it!” Hermione squealed, shaking Draco. “He did it, and he was  _ great!” _

“He was,” Draco agreed, his voice still shaky. “I can’t believe it.”

“Come on,” Hermione called, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go!”

She led Draco down the steps and out of the stands until they had reached the tent, which was still guarded by McGonagall, Hagrid and Moody. Moody’s good eye was fixed on Draco as they approached, but he ignored him in favour of Hagrid, who was grinning brightly and nodding towards the tent entrance. They did not falter in their steps as they burst in, only coming to a halt once inside. The inside of the tent seemed to be some kind of makeshift infirmary. Madam Pomfrey was bustling around in a cubicle that seemed to hold Diggory, at least judging from the shadows that they threw on the curtains. Harry, meanwhile, was stepping out of a second cubicle. His robes were still torn and bloody where the Horntail had hit his shoulder, but from the way he moved, Draco could tell that the wound had already been healed. 

Before Harry could even open his mouth to greet them, Draco had his arms around him. 

“I’m so glad you are okay,” he breathed, his fingers still trembling as he clung to Harry’s robes. “Merlin, I was so scared.”

“You were brilliant!” Hermione squealed. “You were amazing! You really were!”

“Incredible,” Draco agreed, finally letting go of him to let Hermione have her hug. “If the jury judges you fairly, you’ll be right up at the top somewhere!”

Harry smiled at him over Hermione’s bushy head, opening his mouth to return something, but the words were lost to the flap of the tent entrance lifting as a fourth person entered. Draco’s eyes narrowed when he realised it was none other than Weasley, face pale and shoulders hunched as he lingered in the entranceway, looking at Harry hesitantly. 

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?!” Draco snapped. 

“ _ Draco _ ,” Hermione hissed, her hand catching his wrist to restrain him. 

Weasley gulped once but otherwise ignored Draco’s jab, instead addressing Harry directly.

“Harry,” he said. “whoever put your name in that Goblet - I - I reckon they’re trying to do you in.”

Draco couldn’t help it - he laughed, rather bitterly. 

“Really?” he demanded. “ _ Now _ you come around?! After  _ weeks _ of being a complete  _ arse _ -”

“ _ Draco _ ,” Hermione cut him off, rather sharply. 

“What?!” he hissed. “It’s true!”

A tense silence spread out between them, and Weasley was studying his shoes, his ears a bright red. Eventually, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth again, but he did not get to speak, because Harry was quicker.

“It’s okay,” he said, making Draco whirl around to stare at him incredulously. “Forget it.”

“No,” Weasley protested. “I should have-”

“ _ Forget it _ ,” Harry insisted, a determination in his voice that told Draco that there was no arguing with him, no matter how much Draco might have wanted to. 

While Weasley and Harry grinned awkwardly at each other, Hermione let go of Draco’s wrist and burst into tears. She hugged both of them, whining about how stupid they were, before escaping through the tent flaps to have her emotional breakdown somewhere else. Draco rolled his eyes. They were stupid indeed, the both of them, though Draco’s reasoning behind that conclusion quite differed from Hermione’s. 

The three of them left the tent together, Weasley chattering on about the performances of the other three champions, all the time ignoring the way Draco glowered at him from Harry’s other side. The insufferable redhead only shut up when they reached the edge of the enclosure, signalling the judges that Harry was ready to receive his marks. 

Draco held his breath, staring the judges down. He had claimed again and again that he did not care about the outcome of this tournament as long as Harry got out of it alive, and he stood by his words, but now that his friend has survived his first task, he might as well be rewarded for it. 

Madame Maxime was, again, the first one to reveal her points. She raised her wand up in the air and a large, silvery eight appeared. 

“Not bad,” Weasley called. “I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder…”

Next was Crouch, who awarded Harry nine points. He received the same marks from Dumbledore. Then it was Bagman’s turn, and Draco’s eyes widened as he conjured a large, silvery ten. 

“Ten?” Harry asked incredulously. “But… I got hurt… what’s he playing at?”7

“Harry, don’t complain!” Weasley called cheerfully, but Draco was quite in agreement with Harry. Bagman had been horribly strict with the other champions, his points never exceeding seven. He was showing a bias that was terribly obvious, and Draco had to wonder why.

He could not voice any of this aloud, though, because then Karkaroff was raising his wand, and Draco knew what was going to happen even before the large four appeared over his head.

“ _ What? _ ” Weasley called angrily. “ _ Four?  _ You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum a ten!”

As Weasley kept cursing and Harry laughed, seeming far too pleased with Weasley’s anger as long as it was for his sake, Draco wished that he had taken off with Hermione earlier. He suddenly felt like a fifth wheel, and it made his contempt for Weasley grow beyond words. 


	7. A Long Time Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm back for the next chapter, and at last, the Yule Ball! Now, I have to say that I very much enjoyed your speculations in the comments, though I do think most of you anticipated something different than what is going to happen here. I hope you will enjoy it, anyway, as I'm finally proving the Romantic Awakening tag true. 
> 
> Also, before you start reading, let me do a small advertisement corner: This past week I posted my first fanfiction in another fandom. It's still a crossover / Hogwarts AU so I haven't travelled all that far from home lmao but I am still proud of it. So if any of you have read the book "Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda" by Becky Albertalli (basis to the movie "Love, Simon"), please check out my fic and tell me what you think! It would make my day :D

Draco quickly realised that he could do nothing but simply accept the fact that Harry and Weasley were back to being attached at the hip, no matter how much he thought Weasley did not deserve Harry’s forgiveness. In Draco’s eyes, he had betrayed Harry beyond redemption by doubting him when it mattered the most. He did not say anything to that effect in front of Harry, naturally - his friend seemed so happy to have his ginger nuisance back that he did not have the heart to ruin things for him - but he made a point of not speaking to Weasley unless he absolutely had to, and it translated fairly well, it seemed. One time between classes, when Weasley and Draco were randomly left to their own devices by the other two (Harry had gone to the bathroom and Hermione had not yet returned from the library), Weasley tentatively tried to mend the abyss between them, only to have Draco shoot him down completely.

“Listen, Malfoy,” Weasley said in a rather small voice, cutting through their tensed silence. “I know I said some things when… you know…”

“Eloquent as always, I see,” Draco sniffed.

Weasley let out a frustrated huff before starting again.

“What I mean to say is, I know I’ve not only been a git to Harry, but to you as well. I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“Don’t bother,” Draco returned colly.

“No,” Weasley argued. “I know you’re still mad at me, and you probably have a right to be-”

“That’s right, I do,” Draco cut him off. “And nothing you can say will change that. If Harry wants to forgive you, that’s up to him, and I won’t meddle, so you don’t need to worry about that. But I’m decidedly  _ not _ as gracious and forgiving as he is, so I’d say we drop the subject now before I lose my temper with you.”

Weasley was frowning and staring at the floor, looking abashed and petulant at the same time. They fell back into their frosty silence until Harry returned and they made their way down to Care of Magical Creatures together, Harry chatting away happily between them, unaware of the insurmountable chasm between his two friends.

Draco, however, was far more interested in the clue Harry’s Golden Egg was supposed to give him for the next task, though Harry, quite to Draco’s frustration, did not seem to share this interest. 

“You have to let him figure it out by himself,” Hermione sighed as Draco poured over a book for translation spells, trying to find one that might transform the screaming that started as soon as the egg was opened - which Draco suspected was some form of communication by the magical creature he had to face next - into simple English. “It’s in the rules, Draco.”

“Fuck the rules,” Draco hissed, not caring about his crudeness in the slightest. “Like hell will I let Harry work on this alone. We’ll be panicking in the library the night before the second task if we do that. No,” Draco shook his head. “I’ll figure this out in time, even if Harry wants to laze around and not think about it for now.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but abruptly closed it again, flushing a dark red colour. Draco took in her expression with some confusion before following her gaze until he found Viktor standing across the room. He had paused in his search for a book to catch Hermione’s eyes and smile at her, but when he noticed Draco looking, he quickly returned to his task. Draco snorted and turned back to Hermione, grinning.

“Oh,” he said gleefully. “I see how it is.”

“He asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him,” Hermione whispered under her breath, eyes wide as she stared at Draco.

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” Draco shrugged. “He’s been interested in you for quite a while. I’ve been waiting for him to make a move.”

“You  _ knew _ ?!” she demanded. “And you didn't think to mention it to me?!”

“Excuse me, I’m not going to betray his trust,” Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione only grumbled to herself, still flushed as dark a scarlet as her Gryffindor tie, and it amused Draco deeply. “So,” he prodded. “what did you say?”

“Well,” Hermione muttered, gulping. “I said yes. I mean, of course, I said yes. It’s… extremely flattering, after all, and he’s nice and…” 

“An international Quidditch star?” Draco provided. “A school champion?”

“You know I don’t care about that,” she hissed.

“Still,” Draco smirked. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this, aren’t you?” she accused, glaring at him half-heartedly. 

“I’m just thinking about how Weasley will take these news,” he said cheerfully. 

Hermione’s face grew more serious at that, examining him closely before asking, tentatively: “You really won’t forgive Ron already?”

“Hermione,” Draco groaned, glowering. “Will you please drop it?”

“It’s just,” she bit her lip. “you were the one drafting the peace between the three of us all last year-”

“That was different.”

“-and what he did wasn’t even directed against you,” Hermione continued, ignoring his input. “Don’t you think it’s up to Harry to decide whether or not to drop it?”

“Do you see me interfering with Harry’s decision?” he demanded. “Am I telling him what to do? No. So why are you trying to tell  _ me _ what to do?”

“I’m just saying,” she insisted. “if Harry can forgive him, and really, this whole thing was between Harry and Ron in the first place-”

“That’s the thing, though,” Draco interrupted. “I can deal with it if he doesn’t believe what I say, or judges me like my father’s son or whatever. I’m used to that. But Harry-” he took a sharp breath, his lips pursed as his gaze returned to the book in front of him. “I won’t forgive him for betraying Harry like that. For leaving him when Harry needed him most. How can we trust him not to do the same thing again when it matters?”

“I think he learned his lesson,” Hermione said tentatively. “And I get what you mean, I really do. Harry is my friend, too, after all. But I just think if  _ Harry _ can forgive and forget-”

“Well, Harry is the bigger person out of the two of us,” Draco snapped. “Is that what you want to hear? Because I have no problem admitting it.”

Hermione sighed deeply. 

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” she muttered. “Or this thing you and Harry have going there. I get that he is important to you and that you’re protective of him, but sometimes I feel like it overrides all reason.”

“So what if it does?!” Draco hissed. “I care about him. What’s wrong with that?!”

“I care about him, too,” Hermione argued. “It doesn’t stop me from thinking rationally, though.”

“Well,” Draco returned angrily, slamming his book shut and getting to his feet. “Maybe then you don’t care as much as I do.”

He did not stick around to observe the effect those words had on Hermione, instead storming off, heading for his dormitory to spend the rest of his break there, away from insufferable Gryffindors.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said about an hour later when she sat down next to him for Ancient Runes. “I was out of line.”

“So was I,” Draco sighed. “You just made me so angry.”

“I know,” Hermione admitted ruefully. “You know how I am. I can be stubborn if I think someone is wrong about something.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Draco noted, but he was smiling, and it took the bite off his words. 

“I don’t know why I even bothered,” Hermione mused. “You and Ron have never been friends, exactly. You accept each other’s existence and that’s that.”

“There you go,” Draco encouraged. “Now you get it. I’ll never be friends with Weasley, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”

“I guess,” she nodded, not looking too pleased with the prospect but having at least the decency to drop the topic this time. “So,” she said, changing the subject as Professor Babbling was still engaged in some discussion with Sue Li and Padma Patil and made no moves to start class. “Have you thought about who you want to take to the Yule Ball?”

Draco frowned, thrown by the question.

“Have you ever seen me show any interest in a girl?” he replied. “Besides you, I mean, and no offence, but I really don’t see you the way Viktor does.”

“As if I didn’t know that,” she chuckled. “And that feeling is entirely mutual, don’t worry. But you don’t exactly need to be interested in someone romantically to ask them to a party, do you?”

“I don’t think there’s any girl at Hogwarts apart from you that I’d feel inclined to spend a whole evening with,” Draco answered, making a face at the thought. “Not to mention that I highly doubt anyone would want to go with me if I asked. To one half of the school, I’m the son of Lucius Malfoy, and to the other half, I’m a blood traitor.”

“I think you’re underestimating your own charm,” Hermione argued. “I’m pretty sure a lot of girls would actually be very flattered if you were to ask them. I know at least one who would say yes without thinking twice.”

“Who?” Draco frowned.

“Ginny,” she said, in an obvious attempt to be casual.

Draco couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“What’s so funny about that?” Hermione frowned. “Ginny is a lovely girl.”

“She is, she is,” Draco agreed. “Only she has a major crush on Harry, and always had.”

“Not as much as she used to have,” Hermione pursed her lips. “She’s been almost as interested in you these days.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“I’m not!” she protested, her voice indignant. “I swear I’m not! Your whole tragic hero act in second year, in addition to your rebellion against your father, have made quite an impression on her. And I’m sure she’s not the only one seeing that.”

“Be that as it may,” Draco said, still chuckling. “I’d much rather spend the Yule Ball hanging out with my friends instead of chatting up a girl.”

“But you do realise that Harry will need a date?” Hermione frowned. “He’s one of the Champions. He’s expected to open the Ball with a dance.”

“Oh,” Draco said, all humour leaving him abruptly. 

“And you know Ron will want a date if Harry and I have one,” Hermione continued. “By the way, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to them that Viktor asked me. I’d rather put that conversation off for as long as I can. But nevermind that now. I just don’t want you to feel left out when all of us end up coming with someone else.” When Draco did not answer to any of that, she elbowed him, making him meet her eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” he confirmed, though his voice was rather subdued now. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“I really think you’d have a good time with Ginny,” she insisted. 

“She’d have a much better time with Harry, I’m sure,” Draco muttered, rather bitterly.

“Harry won’t ask her,” Hermione shook her head. “I have a feeling who he’ll want to go with, and it’s not Ginny.”

“Who?” Draco asked, feeling more sick by the minute.

“Cho Chang,” she said simply. “Have you not seen the way he looks at her?”

Indeed, Draco had not noticed. The thought of Harry having a crush on anyone made him feel strange, like snakes were wiggling their way through his intestines. 

Thankfully, Professor Babbling decided to finally start teaching, and Hermione had to drop the whole Yule Ball issue. The feeling of unrest it had brought over Draco did not leave him for the rest of the day, though. 

 

The next couple of weeks were filled with strange little events. For one, Rita Skeeter turned up at their Care of Magical Creatures class and scheduled an interview with Hagrid, which turned, quite predictably, into an interrogation about Harry that Hagrid refused to be part of. Another one was Hermione invading the kitchens in the name of S.P.E.W. and finding Dobby and Winky working down there, Dumbledore having agreed to pay Dobby a small sum each month as salary. Dobby was ecstatic to see both Harry and Draco again, chatting away happily, and Draco found himself quite fond of the elf now that he was out of the Manor and not in any way connected to his father anymore. 

None of these things kept Draco’s mind as occupied as the matter of the Yule Ball, though. It was ridiculous, really - he did not want to ask anyone to go with him, and he had other things to worry about, like that stupid egg which seemed resistant to any translation charm he tried on it, but still, his thoughts kept returning to that stupid event with a sense of impending doom. 

Harry was rather tight-lipped about who he wanted to take, though now that Hermione had pointed it out, he did catch Harry sneaking glances at the Ravenclaw table whenever he thought no one was looking. Every time Draco caught sight of it, he immediately lost his appetite. 

A number of girls had also taken matters into their own hands and asked Harry out themselves, but he had turned down all of them. Weasley, being the huge troll that he was, had a lot of opinions about which girls were suitable to go with and which weren’t, driving Hermione up the wall with his superficial views, but Draco felt grimly comforted by the nonsense he was sprouting. Never in a million years would that guy get a date. Every girl agreeing to go out with him would have to strip herself off all pride and serve it to the Blast-Ended Skrewts for dinner. At least he’d not be the only one coming alone. 

Or that was what he’d thought until Christmas crawled closer and closer and the teachers had started decorating Hogwarts for the season. The two Gryffindor boys had grown more and more restless the more time passed, and Draco’s tentative hope that none of them would end up finding a date was cruelly shattered the week before the actual event, when Harry told him in evident relief that he and Weasley were going to the Yule Ball with the Patil twins.

“What?” Draco asked, trying to keep his voice even as his heart dropped through the floor and out on the other side of the globe. “I did not know you were interested in any of them.”

“I’m not, really,” Harry admitted. “But…” he hesitated for a moment, then continued: “I asked Cho Chang, but she’s going with Diggory. So, really,...” Harry trailed off, but Draco could hear the words he was not saying:  As long as he could not go with the person he really wanted to go with, it didn’t matter. “I asked Parvati last night, and she agreed to ask Padma for Ron, so here we are.”

Draco did not say anything. He just stared straight ahead, trying to reign in the complicated emotions that were rising up inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him.  _ Why _ did this bother him so much?! Just because he didn’t have anyone he wanted to go with, didn’t mean that his friends weren’t allowed partners. He wasn’t the kind of friend who wished for bad things to happen to his friends just because they were convenient to him. And Viktor asking Hermione had not bothered him, either.

Why was Harry any different?

He felt his friend’s eyes on his face, and suddenly, Harry was cursing.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I should have asked for you as well. I just didn’t think - you never showed any interest in the Yule Ball, so-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco shrugged. “I’m not going.”

“What?” Harry blinked, staring at him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a stupid event full of giggling girls and older students trying to sneak in alcohol under the teachers’ noses, and I don’t want any part of it.”

“Are - are you sure?” Harry asked, taken aback by Draco’s sudden contempt. Not that Draco could blame him - he hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for attending, mind you, but he had never intended to not show his face at all. Now, though, with everyone else grouped up, he felt like he’d rather snog Moaning Myrtle than watch Harry dance with Parvati Patil all night. 

“Quite sure,” Draco said, rather stiffly.

“So you’re not angry with me?” Harry checked. “Because you seem angry.”

“I’m not,” Draco confirmed. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have to go to the library, because  _ someone _ needs to figure out that stupid egg while you ponder what to wear or whatever.”

“You are angry,” Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, Draco, I can still ask Parvati if she knows anyone else who might-”

“Have you not been listening?!” Draco snapped. “ _ I’m not going _ . But I would appreciate it if you’d put some effort into that stupid egg once in a while so that you don’t die in February.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah,” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Right. As if.”

And with that, he left Harry standing in the corridor, unable to even feel guilty for snapping at him. 

 

“You seem angry,” Viktor commented as he joined him at the table he had hoarded in a corner of the library. “Vot happened?”

“Nothing,” Draco sighed. “I’m just a little tense, is all.”

There was a moment of pause, in which Draco scanned the index of his book, looking for the chapter on how to identify the calls of magical creatures. 

“Herm-own-ninny,” Viktor started, as always struggling with the name.

“Hermione,” Draco corrected absentmindedly.

“Yes, she told me Potter has a date for the Ball,” he continued. 

“So he does,” Draco said bitterly.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asked, watching him closely.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Draco shrugged, not looking up. “I’m not intending to go, as it is.”

There was a moment of silence, before Viktor pressed on, very carefully: “I see the vay you look at him, Draco. I know this is hard for you.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, sharply. “How do I look at him?”

Viktor did not answer, at first, seeming regretful to have spoken at all. Only at Draco’s prodding did he continue, very hesitantly: “My friend Stoyan, he too… I mean, I might be vrong. Sorry.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Draco insisted. 

“It’s just hard,” Viktor shrugged awkwardly. “If a person you… em… care about, deeply, doesn’t…”

“But Harry cares about me?” Draco blinked, genuinely confused. 

“Yes,” Viktor said quickly. “But not the same vay you…” When Draco still sat there, utterly clueless about what the other boy was trying to tell him, Viktor hastily got to his feet. “Forget I said anything,” he muttered. “I am sorry.”

And with that, he fled the library, leaving Draco to stare after him, flabbergasted and slightly frightened. 

 

He could not get Viktor’s words out of his head for the rest of the week. It was like he had planted a seed that grew and grew to  _ something _ inside of him, something with a stem and leaves that Draco could not yet identify. 

He found it hard to look at Harry. Everything hurt when he did, and Draco didn’t understand why. It made no sense. Harry hadn’t done anything. So why did Draco still feel like he was bleeding on the inside?

He had half a mind to ask Viktor for clarification, or even approach Hermione, but that would require him to own up to what was going on with him, and Draco didn’t feel ready for that. Though he had no idea what exactly it was that was happening, it felt somehow shameful to him, like whatever he was feeling was something that shouldn’t be there and if anyone else knew that it was, they would judge him for it. 

It wasn’t until Christmas Day when he opened Harry’s present for him (a book on Alchemy which no doubt Hermione had suggested to him) that the loose ends started to slowly connect themselves to an uncomfortable truth. He spent the day out with his Gryffindor friends in the snow, trying not to think, not to feel, but every time he saw Harry’s face, flushed from the cold, an easy smile on his face, something squeezed down on Draco’s heart and he found he couldn’t breathe.

_ No _ , he thought desperately. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not like this.  _ Not Harry. _

But when Harry and Weasley parted with him as the clock struck seven, the realisation had settled within Draco, and he knew that there was nothing he could do to undo it ever again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Harry asked quietly, frowning at Draco. “It’ll be boring without you.”

“Quite sure,” Draco nodded, his voice strained. He needed to get away. He needed to not look at Harry for another second. “Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Harry sighed in retaliation and followed Weasley up the stairs towards the Gryffindor tower.

Draco did his best to keep himself together as he made his way down to the dungeons. He knew better than to fall apart in public. If his upbringing had ever taught him anything, it was how to keep his composure. 

The Slytherin common room was buzzing with activity - students in dress robes, waiting excitedly for their partners, and younger students hanging around, trying to get a glimpse of the event they were exempted from - and Draco pushed right through the crowd, eager to get to his dormitory. Sadly, it was far from empty. Each of his dorm mates was getting dressed for the Ball, making a ruckus while at it, with the exclusion of Zabini, who was quiet as always. When Draco entered the room, Nott turned to him, his expression like a Kneazle who had gotten the cream. 

“Look, it’s Malfoy!” he boomed. “Is it true you’re not going? Potter asked someone else, did he not? Trouble in paradise?”

It stung. Draco had prided himself in being mostly immune to Nott’s taunt, but this one hit too close to home. Draco barely managed to glower at him. 

“Smart of you, really,” Nott continued with a nasty snort. “Pining after someone all night would be pathetic, even for your standards, Malfoy. Better stay up in your room and cry your eyes out.”

Draco couldn’t take it. He turned on his heels and left the room, the Slytherin quarters, the dungeons, walking and walking until he found himself in the owlery. Aquila landed on his shoulder when he came to a halt, hooting loudly in greeting, but Draco could not bring himself to return anything. He couldn’t speak. Tears were blurring his vision, and he was trembling from head to toe. 

A sob escaped him, and he dropped down on the bench near the window, burying his face in his hands. Aquila let out a softer sound and nudged the side of his head with his beak. The sound of fluttering wings announced Hedwig’s arrival. The snow owl landed next to Draco on his bench, an equally soft sound coming from her, but Draco could not reach for them, could not accept their comfort as his world was falling apart.

Because he was in love with his best friend, who did not love him back. 


	8. The Worth of Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm sorry for all the heartbreak I caused you in the last chapter, and that I'm afraid I'm going to cause in the near future. But as suggested, I'll through in some Viktor to the rescue to make up for it. 
> 
> Thanks for all your wonderful comments! You have no idea how much they mean to me and how much they make my life better at the moment. I love you all.

“Draco… Draco! Wake up!”

Harry’s voice filtered into his consciousness slowly, as if he was listening to it through layers of water. It was only when he was shaken roughly that he forced his lids to lift.

He found Harry’s green eyes very close to his face, full of worry as he stared at him. Draco's heartbeat picked up, despite the slugginess he still felt.

“Draco,” Harry hissed, his fingers tightening on his shoulders. “What are you doing sleeping in the owlery?”

Draco blinked, taking a disoriented look around. He was indeed in the owlery. Hedwig and Aquila were both sitting on the windowsill behind him, watching the scene in front of them silently. The sun was already high up in the sky, causing them to puff up their feathers in a sign of sleepiness. 

Draco must have fallen asleep up here at some point, and the owls had stuck close to him, trying to share some warmth with him. Not that it had done much good. Draco felt chilled to the bone, and a shiver gave that fact away, causing Harry to lift one hand to his forehead and check his temperature. Draco almost flinched away from the touch. 

“You’re burning up,” Harry groaned in exasperation. “What are you doing, Draco?!”

“I woke up early and couldn’t sleep anymore,” Draco lied. “So I came up here, and I must have fallen asleep again.”

“Well, you need to go see Madam Pomfrey now,” Harry grumbled, helping him get to his feet. Draco swayed a little as he stood. Damn it, Harry was right. He definitely had a fever. He felt dizzy and weak, and the arm that Harry slung around his waist to hold him upright did not exactly help the matter like it was supposed to. 

“How did you find me?” Draco croaked as they made their way down the icy steps and back to the castle. 

“I checked the map when you didn’t turn up for breakfast,” Harry sighed. “I should have known. You always end up in the owlery, somehow. I don’t know why it holds such an appeal to you, seeing that it’s cold and doesn’t even have window panes. Can’t you find a warmer place to brood?”

“I wasn’t brooding,” Draco muttered, though he knew it was a lie. “I just like visiting my owl, is all.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d appreciate it if you could at least  _ try _ not to die of hypothermia. I have enough things to worry about as it is.”

Madam Pomfrey was even less pleased with Draco’s condition than Harry was. She muttered under her breath as she forced a vile-tasting potion down his throat, followed by a dose of Pepper-Up that made steam come out of his ears. 

“Take it easy for the rest of the day,” she advised as she dismissed him. “And stay out of the cold!”

Harry personally made sure that Draco did, first leading him into the kitchens to have Dobby smother him with food and hot beverages, before sneaking back into his thankfully deserted dormitory down in the dungeons with him by means of the invisibility cloak. They sat in the armchairs near the fire, Draco with his blanket thrown over himself, trying not to implode under Harry’s focused attention.

“So,” Draco asked finally, his eyes on the dancing flames. “How was the Yule Ball?”

Harry groaned, and Draco hated himself for how much that piqued his interest. 

“It was a disaster,” Harry told him. “You did the smart thing in staying away, though I really wished you’d been there. I could have used your scathing comments to make the whole thing even remotely fun.” And with that, he dived into a retelling of the way the Patil twins had abandoned them for other dance partners (from the sound of it, due to neglect from Harry and Weasley’s side), the fight Hermione and Weasley had had over Hermione agreeing to accompany Viktor (which was not exactly surprising to Draco, though the redhead’s reaction was a little more extreme than he had anticipated) and the talk between Hagrid and Madame Maxime they had overheard, revealing Hagrid’s giant heritage (again, less of a surprise to Draco). “Basically, I’m glad to stay away from everyone for the rest of the day,” Harry grumbled. “I’m sick and tired of Ron and Hermione biting off each other’s heads. I’ll just stay down here with you.”

“Well, you’re welcome to my company any time you want, you know that,” Draco remarked, trying to sound cheerful, but he felt fluttery and weak. This was bad, really bad. He wished he had never realised his own feelings if that was how things were going to be from now on. 

“Oh, and there’s something else,” Harry said suddenly, sitting up with a frown. “Diggory approached me last night.”

“Diggory?” Draco repeated in confusion. “What did he want?”

“He told me to take the egg to the Prefect Bathroom on the third floor and to ‘mull things over in the water’. In return for the tip-off about the dragons, apparently. Do you think it’s a trap?”

Harry was looking at Draco like he hoped it was so that he had another excuse to mistrust Diggory, and Draco quite understood the sentiment. What he said, though, was: “Nah, I don’t think so. He is a Hufflepuff. They’re all about loyalty and fairness. I think he must be serious in wanting to help you.”

“But what could taking a bath do to help me?” Harry asked in frustration.

“The obvious explanation is that you need to put the egg in the water,” Draco responded, and at the moment he said the words, their meaning hit him completely. “Of course!” he breathed, his eyes travelling to the window of his dormitory, which looked out over the ground of the lake. “It’s a water creature of sorts! Merpeople, maybe? And to identify them, you will have to listen underwater. Why did I not think of that?!”

“So you think I should go?” he asked, still sounding hesitant.

“I’m not sure there’s really any need to go to that bathroom and risk being caught,” Draco frowned, getting to his feet. “I have a better idea. Go get that damned egg and meet me here again as soon as you can.”

Harry followed his instructions without further ado, and within a couple of minutes, Draco had transformed his cauldron into a large container full of water, big enough to cover the egg and both their heads if they stuck it in. When Harry returned, he handed the egg to Draco and examined the glass container with some suspicion 

“Alright,” Draco nodded, throwing a towel over his shoulder and handing another one to Harry. “No time to waste. Let’s open it under water.”

Draco sunk the egg under the surface and held it there. Harry assisted in opening it, and immediately, dampened voices could be heard from the water. They nodded at each other. Harry sunk his entire head into the water, but Draco, wary of getting wet and cold, merely leaned in sideways, enough that one ear was in. 

He immediately registered melodic voices and an ethereal tune floating through the water, and Draco concentrated hard to catch what it was saying. 

_ ‘- An hour long you have to look,  _

_ And recover what we took, _

_ But past an hour - the prospect’s black _

_ Too late, it’s gone, and won’t come back.’ _

“You were right,” Harry spluttered as he resurfaced, his hair wet and water drops clinging to his skin. Draco had to look away. He lifted his towel and dried the side of his head for something to do. “It’s merpeople. And they’re going to take something of mine. I-”

“You listen to the whole song,” Draco instructed, standing up to get parchment and quill. “I’ll take notes."

Within a couple of minutes, Draco had penned down the whole song and the container had been returned to its original state as a cauldron as they sat back by the fire, Harry towelling himself dry as Draco babbled at him.

“‘ _ Come seek us where our voices sound’ _ is definitely the lake. You’ll need to go into the lake to find something they’ve taken from you.  _ ‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss’ _ . Mhm. Sounds like they’ll try to take something you treasure, to make you panic and throw you off course, maybe. Though I’m not sure what exactly they’d take for something like that.  _ ‘An hour long you’ll have to look, and to recover what we took _ ’. Well, that one’s obvious. You’ll have to go down to the lake and get back whatever they take from you, in the matter of an hour. Sounds easy enough, really,” Draco mused.

“ _ Easy _ ?” Harry repeated. “How the hell am I supposed to hold my breath underwater for an entire hour, Draco?!”

“There are ways,” Draco shrugged. “Spells and the like. The task is still more than a month away. Let’s write to Professor Lupin. He’ll be sure to know the answer, and he’s not a teacher anymore so asking him won’t break any rules.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, seeming relieved at Draco’s solution. “Okay, yes. You’re right. Let’s write to Professor Lupin.”

Draco summoned another blank parchment and dipped his quill into the ink. 

 

Professor Lupin didn’t take long to answer them, and Draco’s appreciation for the man, if possible, grew even more when he provided them with a number of possibilities to breathe underwater for the duration of an hour.

_ ‘The obvious choice would be a Bubble-Head-Charm,’  _ he had written.  _ ‘but as I strongly assume you are asking for the purpose of Harry using it in the next task, I wouldn’t suggest it. The spell is not exactly hard to perform, but it’s fragile and once the bubble that provides you with oxygen bursts, he’d be in danger. So I’d lean towards a second option, which is not a spell but a plant. Gillyweed, once ingested, will provide the wizard with the means to help him survive underwater for an hour, by making him grow gills and transforming hands and feet into some form of fins. I think that solution might be ideal if Harry needs to perform the next task underwater, because it is easy to use and less risky to uphold, so he can concentrate completely on whatever he needs to be doing. If you need help procuring the Gillyweed, I can order it at an Apothecary and send it to you.’ _

After discussing the matter between the two of them, they agreed that their former teacher was right and asked him to help them get their hands on the Gillyweed, which he did without delay. In the matter of a week, Aquila delivered a little package with said plant placed in a box charmed to keep it fresh till the day of the second task, and Hermione was more than a little taken aback when they finally explained the situation to her and Weasley.

“You could have come to us once you figured the egg out,” Hermione frowned. “I would have helped.”

“You were the one saying Harry needs to figure it out by himself,” Draco reminded her tersely. 

“I only meant to say that you can’t do his work for him,” Hermione huffed. “I never said I was unwilling to help.”

“Well, we managed it without you just fine,” Draco shrugged, ignoring the way she studied him unhappily at his short tone.

“If you’re so keen on helping, why don’t you go talk to  _ Viktor _ ,” Weasley muttered under his breath. 

“Oh, would you drop it?!” Draco rolled his eyes before Hermione had a chance to answer, exasperated with Weasley’s behaviour. “Viktor is a nice bloke and he had no intentions of stepping on your overgrown and overly sensitive toes by asking Hermione out. You wouldn’t have said a word against him if he’d befriended you instead of me and Hermione. So stop embarrassing yourself by being a bitter git.”

“Draco,” Harry sighed, but Weasley was already getting to his feet, his face an angry grimace and his skin flushed scarlet in fury. When he turned to head out of the Great Hall in fast strides, Harry stood to follow him. “Do you always have to provoke him?” he muttered tiredly.

“ _ He’s _ the one acting nasty and irrational!” Draco protested, immediately bristling at the unfair attack. “Why do  _ I _ get scolded for calling him out on it?!”

“Because we both know you enjoy coming down on him,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I know how your mind works, Draco. You can keep the peace if you want to. You just don’t.”

“Well, he behaves like a complete arse,” Draco snapped. “Why should I bother looking the other way when he nags Hermione like a jilted ex-wife?!”

“Oh, forget it,” Harry muttered and followed after Weasley. It hurt Draco more than it should, and he pushed the plate of eggs and toast he had brought over from the Slytherin table away, all appetite gone.

“Are you alright, Draco?” Hermione asked tentatively, still watching him. “You’ve been irritable and weird ever since the whole Yule Ball thing started. It’s worrying me.”

“I’m fine,” Draco hissed. “Can you please stop analysing me?!”

“Alright,” Hermione backtracked, holding up her hands in surrender. “I just wanted to help!”

“I don’t need help,” Draco spat, and he got to his feet as well, suddenly just wanting to be alone. He withdrew to a secluded corner of the library, more for the peace of it than for any other reason. Most students were enjoying the last days of holidays too much to study, so it was almost deserted. Draco had finished all of his homework, and his terrible mood had given way to an excess of study sessions, meaning he was way on top of the curriculum. He ended up rereading a random book on Alchemy just for something to do until Viktor joined him at his table, looking like he was approaching him against his better judgement.

It was not that Viktor and he hadn’t talked since the other boy had clumsily insinuated that Draco had feelings for Harry. They still regularly sat together throughout their meals at the Slytherin table, and sometimes he sat with him and Hermione in the library when Harry and Weasley were out and about doing something else. But their conversation had never strayed to anything even remotely close to the Yule Ball, Harry or feelings in general. But when Draco took in the expression on Viktor’s face as he sat across from him, looking like all he _really_ wanted was to run, he knew that the Durmstrang student was building up to addressing the topic once more, and it made Draco feel sick in the stomach. 

“Let me guess,” he said faintly. “Hermione sent you.”

“No,” he protested, too quickly, and when Draco just lifted an eyebrow at him, he caved, admitting: “Well, yes. She said she vos vorried about you.”

“Can we please not do this?” Draco pleaded. “Before you make me want to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower?” 

“I von’t force you to talk if you don’t vont to,” Viktor said slowly, a frown on his face. “But I vos vatching you and… I think you need to.” When Draco didn’t answer, just looking at him wordlessly, he added awkwardly: “But you don’t haff to. It is be fine.”

Draco sighed deeply, slumping back in his chair, allowing himself, for once, to be as utterly miserable as he felt.

“You are a good friend,” was all he managed to say. Viktor shrugged awkwardly, but it seemed to encourage him because he suggested: “Vy don’t you come and take a walk with me?”

“It’s cold,” Draco complained.

“Not that cold,” Viktor waved him off, and when he got to his feet, Draco had no choice but to follow him.

The grounds were mostly empty, despite the sunny weather, and Draco’s breath fogged up as he followed Viktor out into the snowy landscape. It would have been beautiful, really, the mountains and the forest powdered in white and glistening in the sun, but Draco couldn’t appreciate it, what with the tumult of emotions raging inside his chest. 

“I am sorry,” Viktor spoke up after a while, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them. “It vos vrong of me to say anything. I vonted to help, but I think I should haff been quiet.”

“But you were right,” Draco admitted, his voice heavy. “I didn’t understand it when you said it, but now I do. Only I wished I didn’t.” When Viktor looked like he was going to apologise again, he added: “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. I would have realised it eventually, even without your input.”

They fell back into their tensed silence, and it took several minutes before Viktor started speaking again. 

“At Durmstrang, it vas alvays Andrey, Stoyan and me,” he said heavily. “They vere my first friends, and I didn’t talk to many others. In fifth year, Stoyan realised he vos in love with Andrey. It vos a mess.”

“Did he tell him?” Draco asked in a small voice. “Did Andrey react badly?”

“No, he vos very nice,” Viktor shook his head. “But he likes girls, and he knew he could not feel for Stoyan the vay Stoyan felt for him. And Stoyan vos very upset.”

“Of course he was,” Draco whispered.

“Our group broke apart because Stoyan couldn’t be around Andrey all the time,” Viktor explained, his voice sad. “I am still friend vith both of them, but they don’t talk. I think it is a little better now, because Stoyan told me he fell in love vith someone and they are together, but I don’t think they vill…” He did not finish the sentence, but Draco understood anyways. 

“It will never be the same,” he filled in, his chest feeling tight. 

“So ven I noticed the vay you…,” Viktor explained, his words slow as he searched for the right expression and gave up. “Before the Yule Ball, I… I vanted to help you. You are a lot like Stoyan, you know. It’s vy I liked you. You are emotional, sometimes a little… intense? But that’s okay. It makes you a good friend. But it also makes you easy to hurt.”

Draco stayed silent through his words, his thoughts rather self-deprecating. He knew Viktor was right, in a way, but it all came down to him being weak and vulnerable, and that was something he hated about himself.

“I don’t vont to say you are like Stoyan and Andrey,” he noted quickly when he saw Draco’s face. “I don’t know Potter enough to know if he vould be interested in you that vay or not.”

“He isn’t,” Draco said simply, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “He likes girls. He’d never look at me that way.” He took a deep breath, and muttered: “That’s why I can’t ever tell him.”

“I’m sorry you feel this vay,” Viktor said, so sincerely that Draco felt like crying. “It’s a bad situation.”

“There’s nothing I can do, really,” Draco shrugged. “I can’t do what Stoyan did. Harry is my best friend, and I cannot give that up, no matter how much I might wish that he’d see me as more than that. I’ll just have to pretend it’s not there.”

“Can you do that?” Viktor asked.

“I have to,” Draco said decisively. “It’s the only option I have. You don’t know much about Harry, or about my background, but… things are too tangled for me to take a step back, especially now, in the middle of the tournament. Not to mention I’d go insane with worry. And Harry… he only has us to rely on, you know? And Weasley has been a complete jerk this year, so that leaves Hermione and me. I could never do that to him, you know? Leave him to his own devices like that just because I’m hurting. He hasn't done anything wrong, and even though he doesn’t feel the same for me, I know that I am important to him. So as long as he needs me, I will be there.”

“You are very loyal,” Viktor noted with a small smile. “But please don’t forget to think about yourself, too.”

“I’ll try,” Draco promised, though he knew he didn’t mean it. He’d easily sacrifice his own happiness for Harry’s, and he knew that clear as day. 

Viktor nodded, and they continued their walk over the grounds in renewed silence, though they had left the tension behind somewhere on the way. 


	9. ‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I don't really know what to say in this author's note, to be quite honest. I know this is a chapter most of you have anticipated for a long time, and you all have your own expectations for it. Some will love me for what ends up happening, and some will want to shoot me. (Please don't shoot me.) I just hope that, no matter which camp you are in, you'll enjoy the direction the story is taking regardless of your own expectations, and that you'll stick around to understand why I figured that path was the right one for this story, as I hope it will become clearer in the future chapters.

As the new school year started, Draco found he had other things to do than obsess over his own feelings for Harry. Rita Skeeter published an article revealing Hagrid’s giant heritage, and their friend-turned-teacher took it so badly that he hid in his hut for days, not coming out for neither his own classes nor meals and not answering when the lot of them knocked at his door, no matter how hard they begged for him to talk to them. It was only after a run-in with Rita Skeeter at Hogsmeade that Hermione almost kicked down his door and Dumbledore, of all people, invited them in. With joined forces, they managed to convince Hagrid to forget about his plans for resignation and come out of hiding.

“Honestly, Hagrid,” Draco told him in his most gentle voice when Dumbledore had left, shifting the cup of tea Hagrid had provided him with from one hand to another without drinking it. “Look at the lot of us.  _ I _ come from a family of criminal pureblood elitists,” he pointed his free hand to his own chest. “ _ His _ Muggle relatives are abusive and sadistic monsters,” he pointed to Harry, then to Hermione. “ _ Her  _ family are Muggles, which is no crime but doesn't bode well with a lot of people I know, and  _ his _ are what my lot would call Blood Traitors.” He ended his round with a gesture towards Weasley. “Do you really think you stand out so much with a giantess mother?!”

“It’s not the same,” Hagrid whispered tearfully. 

“To my father, it would be just as bad as Hermione's heritage, or Weasley's,” he rolled his eyes. “And I don’t care what he says, so why would I care what a stupid newspaper article does?”

Hagrid gave him a watery smile, and Fang licked his ear, making Draco twitch.

 

And of course, once the Hagrid debacle was over and done with, the second task approached. With a plan and the Gillyweed in hand, there was nothing to worry about, technically, but still, Draco couldn’t help but obsess over everything that might go wrong. He did end up researching the Bubble-Head charm as a second option and teaching it to Harry, just in case.

“From the way you act, one would think you’re the one going down that lake,” Harry told him fondly one evening after he had successfully performed the charm the third time in a row. “One day, you are literally going to worry yourself to death.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Draco agreed darkly. “And it’s going to be worries about you that finish me off, mind you.”

“Relax,” Harry soothed him. “I’m prepared. We did everything we could. Now I just have to go down that lake and -”

“- survive,” Draco completed the sentence for him. “And you’d better, or I’ll follow you into your next life and bring you back, just so I can kill you all over again. And if I have to find the Resurrection Stone from the Fairy Tale to do it.”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“Nevermind,” Draco waved him off. “All I mean to say is  _ watch out for yourself, you stupid Gryffindor _ !”

“I will,” Harry nodded. “I promise I will.”

 

On the morning of the second task, Draco was too nervous to even eat. He sat at the Gryffindor table next to Harry, force-feeding him toast while he himself only nervously sipped from his tea.

“Where the hell are Hermione and Weasley?!” he demanded, for the third time that morning, glaring towards the entrance in search for their missing friends. “Of all days to take off somewhere…”

“They’ll turn up,” Harry muttered, though he looked quite pale and bothered. “McGonagall called them to their office last night. Maybe it’s got something to do with that.”

Draco threw a furtive look at the staff table, noting that McGonagall, just like Sprout and Dumbledore, were missing as well. 

“Maybe someone from Weasley’s family is here again,” Draco mused. “Maybe Bill brought something from your Gringotts vault to hide down in the lake. Though why they would call Hermione for that…”

“There’s nothing in my Gringotts vault I’d really miss, anyway,” Harry frowned. “So that can’t be it. And the twins and Ginny are here, after all.”

“You’re right,” Draco admitted grudgingly. “It’s just unlike Hermione to disappear like that. Maybe I should ask Viktor-”

But as he looked over at the Slytherin table, Karkaroff was picking Viktor up to take him to the stage of the second task. It didn’t take long until McGonagall turned up as well, sans Hermione and Weasley, to gather Harry. Draco pulled him into a tight hug and wished him luck, and then he sat back and watched him leave with the same feeling of unadulterated fear that he had battled with during the first task.

“He’s going to be fine,” Ginny told him quietly, taking a seat next to him. “It’s  _ Harry _ , after all.”

“Yeah,” Draco sighed. “It’s Harry, alright. Which is exactly why I’m so worried.”

 

He made his way down to the lake with Ginny and Longbottom about an hour later. Hermione and Weasley had still not turned up, and Draco was furious with the two of them. Deep down, he knew that he should be worried, but his whole contingency of that emotion was being used up by Harry, so anger was all that was available. 

“I’ll murder them,” Draco promised when Ginny ensured him again that she had not seen them anywhere. “Your brother first. No offence.”

“None taken,” she chuckled, leading him up the stands that had been erected by the lake. Draco just followed mindlessly, his eyes flitting over the water’s edge, where the table for the judges had been put. Harry and the other Champions were standing next to it, all of them clad in thick bathing robes and what was probably swimwear underneath, nervously shifting from one foot to another. Draco looked back at the judges and frowned.

“So there  _ is _ another member of your family here today,” he pointed out, touching Ginny’s shoulder and gesturing towards the redhead on the right side of Dumbledore.

“Percy?” she gasped, staring. “Why is  _ he  _ here?”

“When we met Bagman at Hogsmeade the other day, he told us that Crouch was ill somehow,” Draco noted. “Maybe he’s filling in for him.”

“Must be,” Ginny nodded.

They finally took their seats next to Finnigan and Thomas, and Draco, despite his irritation, kept two seats open on his other side, hoping that Hermione and Weasley would still turn up at the last minute. But when Bagman’s magically boosted voice rang through the air, the seats were still empty. 

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle,” Bagman announced. “They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…  _ three _ !”

Bagman blew the whistle, and the crowd of students exploded into applause and cheers. Draco sat at the edge of his seat, kneading his fingers as he watched Harry throw aside his bathrobe, revealing Gryffindor coloured trunks and a top underneath. He pushed the Gillyweed into his mouth and approached the edge of the water. Next to him, Delacour and Diggory were performing Bubble-Head Charms, while Viktor was attempting some kind of transformation.

“Is Harry using Gillyweed?” Neville asked from Ginny’s other side, sounding thrilled.

“Yes,” Draco confirmed absentmindedly, watching as Harry clutched his throat, feeling the gills appear. He snapped for breath with his mouth, and when that showed no effect, he flung himself into the lake. He was followed by Viktor, whose upper body had now turned into that of a shark, and then, all champions were under the water’s surface, shielded from the eyes of the crowd.

The cheers soon died down into subdued murmurs.

“Well,” Finnigan complained. “This will be one boring task if we can’t even watch it properly.”

Draco, naturally, could care less about the entertainment value of the task, but he, too, was discomfited by the fact that he couldn’t follow what was going on. His imagination, after all, was often worse than the truth. So Draco spent the next couple of minutes worrying himself senseless and cursing Hermione and Weasley for their absence in equal measures while Ginny tried to tentatively comfort him.

The first champion to appear back at the surface, a mere ten minutes after the start of the task, was Delacour. Her head tore through the water, bubble gone, and she gasped desperately for air, her arms flailing. Draco held his breath, watching in horror as Madame Maxime helped her to the shore. Fleur was badly marked and in tears, talking to her headmistress in quick French (they were too far away from Draco for him to pick anything up) while the other woman wrapped her up in her bathrobe in a motherly gesture. 

Bagman, after some quick words with Maxime, announced: “Miss Delacour forfeits after a Grindylow attack.”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe they should have asked Hagrid in advance about the kind of creatures Harry could expect in the lake, and how to dodge them. What if Harry ran into something? What if-

“Draco,” Ginny said gently. “Breathe slowly. You’re hyperventilating.”

“Am I?” Draco gasped, making an effort to calm down. 

“Harry will be fine,” she assured him.

“You don’t know that,” he whispered. She didn’t respond.

Draco spent the next couple of minutes watching Delacour as she cried in open abandon, and for the first time, he put any real thought into what they had taken from the champions. Because those were tears of real desperation, not just of defeat and disappointment. What was the girl so despaired to have lost that she would react that way?

The answer came to him when Diggory came up not long after, in the company of none other than Cho Chang. Draco blinked, staring uncomprehendingly as Diggory helped Chang to the shore with the uttermost care, where they were expected by Dumbledore.

“It’s people!” Dean called through the cheers of the crowd. “They hijacked people close to them and gave them into the care of the merpeople or something!”

“So that’s why Ron and Hermione aren’t here,” Longbottom agreed. “They’re down there, for Harry.” He turned to catch Draco’s eyes and paled when the implications of his statement sank. “I mean-” he said hurriedly, searching for words, but there was nothing he could say that would stop the terrible, hollow feeling that was settling in Draco’s stomach.

Someone had been taken from Harry, someone that was supposed to be who Harry was going to miss the most.

And it wasn’t Draco.

“Draco?” Ginny asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Draco did not answer. He just stared down at Diggory, how he gently dried Chang’s hair, and Delacour, who was still crying for whoever had been taken from him. 

The next person who surfaced was Viktor, and he was accompanied by Hermione. Draco felt so numb he could not even be relieved about his missing friend's reappearance. 

This meant that Weasley was the person that Harry would miss the most. Weasley, who had abandoned Harry after he had been announced champion; who had not believed in him and had said horrible things, while Draco had always stood by him, risked everything for him, and still…

He had never thought about who would be most important to Harry, out of the three of them, but he would have expected it to be him. Because it was true the other way around.

Harry only came back up for air shortly before the time was up, and he was accompanied by both Weasley and a little girl with silvery-blond hair like Delacour. Her sister, he guessed. Draco watched as Delacour jumped up and ran for the water’s edge, helping her out of the lake. Harry and Weasley, meanwhile, were pulled onto dry land by Dumbledore, Bagman and Percy. 

“Draco?” Ginny asked again, staring at him. He must be looking as if he had seen a Dementor, Draco realised. He wished he had, in a way.

“So, Malfoy” Nott called from three rows ahead, Crabbe and Goyle barking with laughter at his side. “How does it feel, being second best to Weasley?”

Draco could not stand it. He got to his feet, evading Ginny’s concern, instead fleeing from the stands without a word to them. He could feel the eyes of other students on him as he left, but he did not hold in, taking quick strides back up to the castle. He knew that he was shaking from head to toe, and it took all his inbred self-control to not fall apart until he was back in his deserted dormitory, the curtains spelled shut and silenced.

Only then did he allow the tears to come and the pain of rejection to consume him wholly.

 

Draco did not leave his room for the rest of the day. If his roommates returned and threw taunts at his bed, he did not hear them through his silencing charms. At one point of the evening, there was an insistent shuffling at his curtains, and he opened them to reveal Aquila carrying a bundle of sandwiches and a note.

_ Draco _ , it read.  _ Please come out and talk to me. I am waiting in the Entrance Hall. - Harry _

Draco threw the note into the fireplace and left the sandwiches on his bedside table, ignoring them. He only let Aquila through the curtain and idly stroked his feathers, staring into space.

 

Draco did not know when he fell asleep, but when he woke again, it was five in the morning and the sun was starting to rise. Everyone else was fast asleep, with the exception of Aquila, who gently nipped his fingers. Draco figured he must be hungry, so he dressed and let the owl perch on his shoulder as he left the Slytherin quarters and made his way up to the owlery. 

When they arrived, Aquila happily dove for the feeding dish, feasting on his food as Draco sat down on the window sill, dully staring out over the grounds. He wondered if he could stay up here till class started without being found. It was a Thursday, and that meant he had no classes shared with the Gryffindors. With some luck, he could avoid everyone all day. He did not feel hungry anyways, and if he did, he could pop into the kitchen and get some food from Dobby.

His plans were crossed, though, when quick footsteps sounded from the stairs to the owlery and Harry appeared in the entrance way, looking dishevelled and out of breath. 

“Thank god I found you,” Harry gasped. “Why didn't you come meet me last night? Didn’t you get my note?”

Draco didn’t answer. He turned away from Harry and wordlessly gazed at the sunlight reflecting on the lake, the bright spots imprinting in his view. 

“Listen, Draco,” Harry said, taking a hesitant step towards him. “I know you are angry with me-”

“I’m not,” Draco said, but his voice sounded stiff and cold.

“Of course you are,” Harry argued. “But you see - this doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“Oh?” Draco muttered. “And pray tell, what do I think?”

“That you’re not as important to me as Ron,” Harry replied, wincing at his own words.

“But I’m not,” Draco shrugged. “The whole school knows that now, and possibly the rest of Wizarding Britain, depending on how detailed Skeeter’s article turns out to be.”

“You’re wrong!” Harry protested, taking another step towards him. “I don’t know how Dumbledore decided who to put down there, but I never thought of either of you as more important than the other. You are my best friends. Both of you. No, the three of you. Hermione as well.”

“Don’t underestimate Dumbledore,” Draco shook his head. “He must have used magical means to determine who you’d miss the most. Dumbledore makes no mistakes, at least not when it comes to things like these.”

“Well, apparently he does!” Harry called, coming even closer and reaching out for Draco. “Draco, please-”

Draco flinched away when Harry touched him, stepping back. Harry froze, looking like he’d been slapped.

“It would be really nice if you could just stop lying to me,” Draco snapped. “I’ve always been an outsider in your little group. I only happened to forget it in recent years.”

“You’re not an outsider!” Harry insisted. “Draco, we all care about you!”

“Maybe,” Draco conceded bitterly. “But not as much as you care about each other.”

“Stop this!” Harry pleaded.

“But it’s the truth, is it not?” Draco returned, his voice rising. “The ranking is first Weasley, then Hermione, and then the whole Weasley family and maybe some other Gryffindors, and then, at some point, me.”

“Don’t be stupid, Draco!”

“I don’t know what it is, if it’s me being a Slytherin or my father-”

“I don’t care about any of that, and you know it!”

“Oh, do I?” Draco countered. “Then why am I never good enough?!”

“I never said you weren’t!” Harry shook his head, his voice now anxious. “If you’d just-”

“I met you first!” Draco yelled, and he knew that he was trembling and his eyes were burning with tears he desperately tried to hold in. “I risked everything to be friends with you, my parents’ love and my freaking  _ life _ -”

“And you are an amazing friend,” Harry breathed. “I know I can always rely on you to be on my side, and you don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Well, obviously not enough!” Draco shouted. The tears were finally spilling from his eyelids, and he wiped at his cheeks angrily. “Where was Weasley when you were pronounced champion?! He bloody abandoned you, that’s what he did, and still, I lose to him?! DON’T TOUCH ME!” he spat when Harry tried to reach out for him again, slapping his hand away forcefully. “I’m done with you! With all of it!”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, and his voice was small and frightened, so much that it barely sounded like him.

“I’m done trying!” Draco informed him. “It shouldn’t be this hard! Real friends shouldn’t have to claw their way into one another’s lives with nails and toes! I’m sick of fighting a battle I can never win!”

“But you don’t need to try,” Harry contradicted him, his voice shaking. “You never needed to! Not with me, at least!”

“Bullshit!” Draco called. “Do you really think we’d ever have become friends if I hadn’t tried so hard?! Weasley has always pushed me out, and you would have listened to him if I hadn’t held on with all my might!”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s so true! If not in first year, then in second.”

“What happened in second year was not your fault. I told you that a million times.”

“Only because you felt sorry for me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“But that’s why you stuck around, right?! Because I was that poor bullied bloke whose father was a jerk and who you could save! I’m your charity project, not your friend!”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Harry asked, green eyes bright and voice rough with emotion.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think anymore!” Draco shouted. “I just know that I’ve been living under this illusion that I’m your best friend when really, I’m obviously far from it.”

“You’re important to me!” Harry insisted. “So important, Draco. I don’t know what I’d do without you. So please don’t do this. I need you in my life.”

“Oh? What for?” Draco scoffed. “So I can figure out the damned third task for you?!” 

“Of course not, you thickhead!” Harry called. “How can you not know what you mean to me?!”

“On the contrary,” Draco muttered, the fight draining out of him, only leaving tears and pain so deep he felt like he could not breathe. “For the first time since I met you, I see things clearly. I’ve been so stupid these past couple of years, and it’s time I returned to reality.”

He dodged Harry, who tried reaching out for him once more, and went for the door.

“Draco!” Harry called, and his voice was high and thin, unlike anything Draco had ever heard from him. “Please!”

“You know what’s ironic?” Draco asked, holding in when he reached the doorway. “If our roles had been reversed… if it had been me, and not you, there wouldn’t have even been a doubt in my mind about who’d have been down there in that lake.” He looked over his shoulder, his lips curling into a bitter smile as he caught Harry’s gaze. Harry looked so lost that the part deep inside of him that loved Harry more than anything else in the world wanted to reach out and wrap him up in his arms and never let go.

But Harry did not want that. Not the way Draco wanted it, and while he’d thought he could deal with only being Harry’s friend and nothing more, knowing that he was less important than Weasley somehow changed everything. Draco couldn’t do this to himself, not anymore.

“How pathetic am I, huh?” Draco muttered, letting out a strangled laugh before fleeing down the stairs and back towards the grounds. Harry did not follow him, or even call his name. 

Tears ran down Draco’s face, and he did not try to reign them in, not anymore. He felt like his heart had been torn out of his chest and was currently used as Fluffy’s chewing toy, each head getting its turn, one after the other. He wandered aimlessly, not paying any attention to where he was going until someone called his name. 

Draco turned to see Hagrid approach him, a deep frown on his face. Fang was running ahead of him, barking at Draco in recognition.

“Draco?” Hagrid asked. “Are yeh alrigh’, kiddo?”

Draco couldn’t answer. He wiped at his cheeks, trying in vain to hide the fact that he was bawling his eyes out, and when Hagrid reached him, the man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeh want ter come in for breakfast?” he asked. “At me house?”

Draco was not sure he wanted to talk to anyone right now, but the prospect of not having to go back up to the castle just yet was too tempting to resist. 

He nodded, and Hagrid smiled warmly at him.

 

“Here yeh go,” Hagrid said, placing a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, along with a cup of tea. Draco just stared at it, his stomach feeling so twisted that he thought he’d throw up if he consumed any of it.

Hagrid sat in the armchair opposite of him, studying him intently. Then, after a while, he said: “I don’ think it’s anythin’ personal, yeh know.”

“What do you mean?” Draco croaked.

“Yeh know wha’ I mean,” Hagrid shrugged. “Don’ try ter ignore the Hippogriff in the room, Draco, or it’ll bite yeh.” When Draco still didn’t say anything, Hagrid continued: “Harry cares abou’ yeh deeply. He'd do anythin' fer yeh, he would.” 

“That doesn’t exactly make me special,” Draco muttered. “That idiot would risk his life for the crup next door.”

“That doesn’ mean you aren’ special,” Hagrid shook his head.

“Just not as special as Weasley.” Hagrid’s frown deepened at Draco’s words.

“I don’ even think tha’s true, yeh know,” he mused. 

“I wouldn’t have put you for a person to mistrust Dumbledore’s judgement.”

“It’s got nothin’ ter do with Dumbledore, kiddo. It’s jus’ that Ron comes as a kinda package deal, yeh know wha’ I mean?”

“No,” Draco sniffed. “I don’t.”

“Well, maybe when yeh had some time ter calm down, yeh will,” Hagrid smiled.

“I really doubt that,” Draco whispered. 

“Well, I don’” Hagrid smirked. “Yeh kids are inseparable. Yeh won’ stay apart fer long.” When Draco didn’t respond, he added: “Eat now, before it gets cold.”

Draco picked up his fork and shovelled some eggs into his mouth, not tasting a thing.


	10. The Intricacies of Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Here I am with the next chapter, and more angst. I hope some of your confusions that I couldn't really address in the comments section will be cleared up here. The rest will probably follow as the story continues. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter, despite of the ongoing angst. As a peace offering, take a little guest appearance of someone we are all quite fond of.

Draco stayed clear of the Great Hall until breakfast the next morning, when he felt too shivery with hunger to skip another meal. So he went to eat as early as he dared, hoping no one he knew would be up yet, but just as he bit into his last piece of toast, Viktor sat down across from him, studying his face.

“Hello,” Viktor said. “I haff not seen you since the task.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco shrugged, not looking at him. 

“Are you alright?” Viktor asked. 

“Perfectly fine,” Draco lied.

“Okay,” Viktor frowned. “Do you vant to meet me and Hermy-ninny in the library later?”

Viktor’s words brought back the memories of that day at the lake, and it felt like ice enclosed Draco’s heart. 

“No, thanks,” he muttered, getting up. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

He could feel Viktor’s eyes on his back as he left, but he did not turn around to look at him.

 

Hermione found him in a far corner of the library at lunch break, frowning at him as she sat down at his table.

“You really need to stop hiding from us,” she said quietly.

“Why?” Draco muttered. “Isn’t it better that I’m gone?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded him. “No one is happy that you’re upset. Not me, and especially not Harry.”

“Well, bully for him,” Draco shrugged. “Good thing he has Weasley, so he’ll get over it fairly quickly, I’d assume.”

“Ron is no replacement for you,” Hermione insisted. “He could never be, and I think that deep down, you know that.”

“Do I?” Draco returned airily, not looking at her. “Because I really don’t think so.”

“I know you’re hurt, Draco,” Hermione sighed. “And I get that, I really do. But if you think you can get rid of me by being sarcastic and rude, you’re more stupid than I put you for.”

“Indeed,” Draco sneered. “You never knew when to leave well alone.”

“Last year,” Hermione said, ignoring his input. “When Harry and Ron wouldn’t even look at me, you were at my side. I was absolutely horrific to you, and you still stood up for me and forgave me. So you can’t think even for one second that I’ll let you push me away when you’re hurting, Draco.”

Draco’s throat closed up at her words, and he had to look away, willing himself not to cry again. He’d cried far more than was proper in the last two days, and he was in the bloody library. Too public for an emotional breakdown.

Hermione reached out to lay her hand upon his on the table's surface, her expression gentle as she muttered: “I’m so sorry that you’re upset, Draco. You’re an amazing friend and it’s painful to see you like that. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better.”

“You could just not mention it so I can lick my wounds in peace?” Draco suggested without hope.

Hermione squeezed his hand and muttered: “He’s really angry with himself, you know. Harry.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Draco shook his head.

“But I think you need to,” Hermione said softly. “He said he took you for granted, and that it’s his fault that you think yourself replaceable. He even fought with Ron when he said - well,” she flinched, continuing: “He said you were an attention-seeking drama queen, and Harry came at him so hard, you have no idea. He told him that you’d always been loyal to him and that Ron of all people had no right to badmouth you. And I think Ron knew how upset Harry was, because he didn’t fight back.” 

“This doesn’t change anything, Hermione,” Draco whispered.

“Why not?” she pleaded. “Harry cares about you. He really does.”

“Listen, I’m done talking about this,” Draco told her, his voice as thin as his control over his emotions. “If you want to stay with me, that’s fine, but if you keep talking about Harry, I’ll leave.” 

Hermione sighed, looking horribly sad, but she nodded and thankfully dropped the subject.

 

Double potions that afternoon was torture. Draco tried his best not to look at Harry, to pretend he didn’t exist, but he was hyper-aware of his presence next to him and it was killing him. He felt Harry’s eyes on his face constantly throughout class, but he didn’t allow himself to meet his gaze, not even when Harry blew up his potion and stained his robes with foul-smelling liquid. 

When class was over, he cleaned up in record speed and fled the classroom. He heard Harry call after him, but he didn’t slow down, not until he was safely back in his dormitory.

 

“Harry is in a horrible state, you know,” Hermione told him a couple of days later, when he was studying with her and Viktor. “It’s different from when he fought with Ron. Back then, he knew Ron was in the wrong, so he was angry with him. Now he’s just really, really miserable because he knows he hurt you.”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about him,” Draco said stiffly.

“I really think it’s not Ron himself, either,” she continued, ignoring his warning. “I think it’s what he stands for more than Ron as a person. He’s Harry’s connection to the Weasleys, the only family that ever showed him any kindness, you know? That’s what he can’t lose. Of course, he cares about Ron, but not more than he cares about you.”

“So it all comes back to my father being shit,” Draco returned sourly.

“That’s not what I said,” Hermione contradicted him. “I just want you to understand. I wasn’t Harry’s person down in that lake, either, but do you see me throwing a fit?”

“Well, you, unlike me, were  _ someone’s _ person down in that lake,” Draco snapped, getting to his feet. “So I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

As he left the library, he heard Viktor stop Hermione from following him, telling her to give him his space, and Draco was incredibly grateful.

 

Things came to a head the next week, when Nott knocked into Draco in the corridor, spilling all his books to the ground. Draco just rolled his eyes as Nott and his minions cackled, and Hermione helped him pick up his books.

He did not know where Harry had come from, but suddenly, there was shouting behind them, and when he turned, Harry was shoving Nott into a wall, seemingly not caring that Nott was a head taller than him, not to mention that Crabbe and Goyle were already approaching, and one of them was easily twice the size of him.

“Stay away from Draco!” Harry hissed, his eyes blazing as he snarled at Nott, making the Slytherin snort.

“What, Potter, are you  _ jealous _ ?! I thought you and Malfoy broke up?”

Draco knew Harry would have punched Nott if McGonagall had not stepped out of her classroom in that exact moment to break them up. Slytherin and Gryffindor both got points taken and she gave Harry and Nott a lecture on physical violence on school grounds as well as a detention.

When she left, Harry looked towards Draco, and their eyes met for the first time since the second task. Draco felt something inside of him break open, and he turned, leaving in quick steps, trying to get as much space between him and Harry as possible.

Sadly, he could not shake off Hermione, but for once, she did not say anything. She just wordlessly held him as he cried.

 

“You should come to Hogsmeade with us on Saturday,” Hermione said softly as they made their way to Ancient Runes the next day. “We’re meeting Sirius.”

“Well, tell him I said hello,” Draco said simply. 

“He’s not only Harry’s godfather,” Hermione pointed out. “He’s your cousin, too. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

“We haven’t been in contact since he escaped,” Draco shrugged. “He’s more interested in Harry than me. He’ll survive it.”

“Harry misses you,” Hermione insisted. “And you cannot tell me you don’t miss him.”

“I can’t be around him, Hermione,” Draco hissed. “Will you please just drop it?”

“I can’t just  _ drop  _ it,” Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated. “You’re my friends, and you’re both miserable. I need you to make up.”

“We can’t always have what we want,” Draco said bitterly. 

Hermione didn’t seem to have an answer to that, but the look she gave him was pained and disapproving.

 

Draco had been dead-set on staying in the castle for the Hogsmeade trip, but on Friday, he received a letter from Professor Lupin that convinced him to set out for the village anyways, though he did not tell Hermione about it and was careful to stay clear of them. 

Lupin was already waiting for Draco at the Three Broomsticks when he arrived, and he smiled when he caught sight of him, getting up and waving him over to the corner table he was occupying. 

“Thank you for coming, Draco, despite the rather short notice I gave you,” his former teacher said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“You’ve always been kind to me,” Draco replied, trying to smile back, but he was not sure he was very convincing. It seemed that his ability to smile had abandoned him with Harry. “So of course I’d come if you asked.”

“You really are a good person, Draco,” Lupin said gently. “Despite your blood relation and your obvious parallels to Sirius in the choices you make, you do remind me of Lily sometimes. You have the same softness in you. The same fierce loyalty.”

Draco’s throat closed up at Lupin’s words, and he had to look away. As if Lupin could read his thoughts, he pushed one of the butterbeers he had apparently ordered before Draco had shown up across the table towards him. Draco took a grateful sip, letting the warm liquid soothe him.

“I received a letter from Harry earlier this week,” Lupin told him quietly, watching his face. “He told me what happened at the second task.”

“So you’re just another person in line trying to get me to talk to him,” Draco muttered bitterly.

“No,” Lupin contradicted. “Actually, I just wanted to see how you were. I realise that this is hard for Harry, but it must be even harder for you.”

Draco shrugged helplessly, thrown by the concern the man showed for him.

“How are you doing, Draco?” Lupin asked earnestly, making Draco’s fingers clench around the glass in his hand.

“Not well?” he answered honestly. 

“Of course you aren’t,” Lupin sighed. “I’ve become witness to the effort you put into keeping Harry safe and sound more than many others, I would assume. It must have been like a slap in the face for you.”

“It was,” Draco nodded. “I’ve never felt so stupid in my life.”

“Nothing about your actions has been stupid, Draco,” Lupin frowned. “You’ve loved and protected Harry in a way so pure that is, quite frankly, admirable. It’s the opposite of stupid.”

“Then why do I feel so defeated?”

“Because when we throw ourselves into something - or someone - as completely and unconditionally as you have, it makes us vulnerable. Caring makes us vulnerable. It’s part of life.”

“Well, I’m not going to let myself get into that position anymore,” Draco shook his head. “It’s too hard.”

“I don’t think that’s your choice,” Lupin smiled sadly. “If someone cares as deeply as you do, you can’t just turn that part of you off. And you know that, I think.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?!” Draco demanded, an edge to his voice. “Look the other way? Pretend that nothing has changed, when for me, everything has?!”

“I think you are right to get some space and figure out what this means for you in your own time,” Lupin said simply. “I am confident that you’ll find the right answer yourself.”

“Why are you so kind about this?” Draco asked, astonished. “You’re connected to Harry more than you are connected to me. I would have expected you to take sides, as everyone else does.”

“Maybe it’s because your situation is not as strange to me as it is to many others,” Lupin smiled. “Don’t forget that I was friends with Sirius and James, who were inseparable in their own days. I’ve always known that, while I was their friend as well, they prioritised each other over me. And that was not always easy. Don’t understand me wrong - due to my condition, I was grateful for their friendship to an extent that I still cannot put into words. But nevertheless, I know how it is when your best friends care about each other more than they care about you, and no matter how much they  _ do _ care about you, that knowledge hurts. But other than me, who’s always known that the situation was what it was, you had that realisation flung at you from one minute to another. That’s even harder to deal with, I imagine.”

“Harry and Hermione keep trying to convince me that it’s not true,” Draco whispered. “That he cares just as much about me as he does about Weasley. As if I’m that naive.”

“I do think that Harry believes that,” Lupin mused. “I read his side of the story and he seemed sincere.”

“But Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” Draco snapped, unable to control himself. “He would not have put Weasley down there if some spell hadn't pointed to him.”

“You are right,” Lupin nodded. “But feelings are not always as straightforward as that. Magic doesn’t consider different factors or layers. The result depends a lot on the wording of the spell. It is possible that he cares about you just as much as he cares about Ron Weasley, but in a different way.”

“Possible maybe,” Draco countered. “But not probable.”

“If it’s the case, we will indeed never know,” Lupin conceded. “Which is why I encourage you to take all the time you need to come to terms with the situation and decide how you want things to be from now on.”

“Even if I decide I can’t be around Harry anymore?” Draco asked quietly.

“I don’t believe that will be your ultimate choice,” Lupin said with a small smile. “But even if it is, it’s yours to make. No one can make it for you, and no one should judge you for it.”

Draco felt a small weight lift off his shoulders with Lupins words. It was a relief to know that at least one person supported him in his path of action. 

“I really don’t want to cut our meeting short,” Lupin said after a while, when a comfortable silence had fallen between them. “But I did promise to go meet Sirius while I was here, and I’d prefer to do it while Harry, Ron and Hermione are with him. I’d ask you along, but I’m sure someone has already done that, and you would have agreed if you felt like it.”

“You’re right,” Draco confirmed. “On both accounts. And I don’t mind you leaving. It was nice of you to look in on me, but I’m not very good company at the moment.”

“Alright,” Lupin nodded, downing the rest of his butterbeer and getting to his feet to shake Draco’s hand. “If you need anything, or if you just want to talk, your owl will know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” Draco said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hold tight,” Lupin smiled. “I know it’s tough for you at the moment, but if I learned one thing in the past couple of years, it’s that there will always be better times. They might not be what we’d originally expected - or hoped - them to be, but one way or another, the sun will shine on us again, and then you will appreciate it all the more.”

“I hope you’re right,” Draco sighed, sitting back down to finish his butterbeer on his own time. “Give Sirius my regards.”

“I will,” Lupin promised, clapping Draco on the shoulder. “We’ll talk, Draco. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” Draco smiled, watching his former teacher leave with a strange sense of warmth in his chest.

 

“Sirius told me to say ‘hi’ to you,” Hermione remarked as she joined him in the library later that afternoon, an hour before dinner. “He was sad not to see you.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Draco said, quite sincerely. “How is he doing?”

“Well, he’s spending his days as a dog, scrambling for leftovers from the village,” Hermione grimaced. “I could imagine a better life.”

“Yeah,” Draco made a face. “Definitely.”

“But he insists he likes to be near in case anything happens, so he’ll stick to it at least until the tournament is over.”

Draco nodded, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach at the reminder of the very real danger Harry was in. He tried to push it away best as he could.

“Lupin joined us after a while,” Hermione mentioned, rather tentatively. “He told us you met.”

“We did,” Draco confirmed. “Just before he went to meet you. He was very kind to me.”

“I’m glad,” Hermione said. “He told Harry to give you some space. Or all of us, really. It seems like he can relate to your situation.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said to me,” Draco nodded. “It was nice, talking to someone who’s trying to understand me.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn’t,” Hermione said ruefully. “I never meant to pressure you. I just hate to see both of you suffering.”

“I know you do,” Draco admitted. “It’s not like I wasn’t in your shoes last year. But you have to see that your situation then was different from my situation now.”

“I do,” Hermione promised. “Or at least, I do now, even if it took me a while.”

“Well, thank you,” Draco sighed. “I mean it. It helps to not be pressured by you, on top of everything.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded, regarding him with a frown. “So, would you rather hear what has been discussed this afternoon, or do you want me to keep it to myself, for now?”

“I’d rather hear,” Draco said heavily. “Even though it can’t really do me any good.”

“Alright,” Hermione bit her lip, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before explaining: “We talked a lot about Crouch and his apparent illness. It turns out Crouch was the one that captured Sirius, and that he was positively obsessed with catching dark wizards after Voldemort’s downfall. He was on the track of becoming Minister of Magic, but then his own son was accused of being a Death Eater.”

“Really?” Draco frowned, surprised. “I never heard Father mention that family. I’d have thought if they had brought forward a Death Eater, they’d have come up at some point.”

“Well, Crouch Senior was very keen on bringing Death Eaters to justice, and had his own son thrown into Azkaban,” Hermione shrugged. “I don’t think your father would have any warm feelings towards him. Plus, we don’t know if he really  _ was _ guilty or if he was just unlucky enough to be wrongly accused.”

“I guess you’re right,” Draco nodded. “So why were you discussing him? You don’t think he’s up to something, do you?” 

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “But Sirius thought it suspicious that he was absent from work for such a long time. He said it’s out of character for him.”

“Okay,” Draco frowned, not sure what to make of that information. 

“Sirius also suggested that someone up in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup might have stolen Harry’s wand to conjure the Dark Mark.”

“You don’t mean my father, do you?” Draco sighed.

“It was Ron’s train of thought.”

“Well, he certainly has the motive,” Draco shrugged. “Getting Harry into trouble and showing loyalty to his old master at the same time. It sounds like him.”

“But even if it was him, I don’t see how it could have any connection to getting Harry’s name into that goblet,” Hermione pointed out.

“I have no illusions regarding my dear father’s resourcefulness,” Draco returned darkly. “I don’t think we can exclude him from suspicion.”

“Sirius also seems to suspect Bagman,” Hermione told him. “Because he keeps offering Harry help, and because he doesn’t seem to put any effort into looking for Bertha Jorkins. Sirius said he went to school with her, and that he doesn’t remember her the way Bagman describes her - as forgetful and scatterbrained, I mean.”

“Hm,” Draco frowned, shrugging. “I’ve been finding Bagman’s insistence on helping Harry weird, as well, but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to follow a dark agenda like that. But then, you never know, do you?”

“I guess you don’t,” Hermione agreed, throwing a look at her watch. “We should go to dinner, Draco. It’s time.”

Draco nodded, gathering his things and following her out of the library, the new information Hermione had presented him with still circling in his mind, no matter how much Draco wanted to just not think about it.


	11. Something More Important Than Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Back with the new chapter! I have announced it before, but sadly, now I have to make true on my words of slowing down my updating rhythm slightly. Real life has been really stressy and I find absolutely no time to write or update throughout the week, leaving only the weekend, which means updates will only come every second or third weekend from now on. I hope you'll be able to cope. 
> 
> Please stick around for the Author Notes at the end of this chapter. Thank you :) 
> 
> Now, enjoy!

The next week was rudely disturbed by Rita Skeeter once more. She published an article insinuating that Hermione was two-timing Harry and Viktor, causing a flood of nasty letters to be sent her way, one of them containing undiluted Bubotuber pus that made her fingers swell up painfully for the rest of the day. It also tipped Hermione into a revenge mission, with her swearing to find proof of Skeeter’s possibly - and probably - foul spying methods and to stop her once and for all. Draco was sceptical of her chances for success, but he indulged her, nodding when necessary and letting her rant herself to satisfaction.

And so the weeks passed, and March turned into April and finally May with Draco settling into his new routine: Meal times were spent with Viktor at the Slytherin table, and free time in the library with Hermione and/or Viktor, depending on who was free and agreeable. He had taken to ignoring Harry completely when they met in corridors or in class, and though Harry still looked at him like a crup who had just received an especially vicious hex by his owner each time Draco failed to show awareness of him, he never called out for him or tried to speak to him, either. Draco’s guess was that Harry had taken Professor Lupin’s advice to heart and was trying to give him space. Draco was glad for it, in a way, but it also hurt in equal measures - when Harry had still been fighting for his friendship, a part of him had managed to delude himself that Harry really cared and maybe even loved him the way Draco loved him and just didn’t know it. But now it died down a little more each day, bullied into obedience by the more prominent voice inside Draco’s head that hissed a well-aimed  _ ‘told you so’ _  every time Harry averted his eyes. 

It took until the end of May for the situation to move into any direction at all. It was a Friday morning when Draco came up for breakfast at the usual time to find Hermione lingering in the entrance hall, sandwiches in hand and talking to Viktor in a hushed voice. Draco frowned as he approached them - moments like these usually pointed to the fact that something had happened and he would be led onto the grounds for a long walk and talk - but they fell silent as soon as they took notice of him. 

“Morning,” Draco said carefully, looking from Hermione to Viktor and back. The silence stretched on between them, and before Draco could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, Hermione had slid into motion. She walked over to him and slung an arm through Draco’s, muttering: “Care for a walk?”, pulling him bodily towards the entrance door without waiting for a reply. Draco looked at Viktor enquiringly, but the older boy just stared after them in a muted expression, not giving Draco anything to go on with. 

“Hermione?” Draco asked when the doors had fallen closed behind them. “What-”

“Viktor and Harry ran across Mr Crouch last night in the forest,” Hermione said brusquely, her steps fast as she led them towards the lake and away from any other students that happened to linger outside.

“Wha-” Draco started, a thousand questions popping up in his head - What had Barty Crouch been doing in the forest when he was supposed to be fatally sick? What had  _ Harry and Viktor _ been doing in the forest? - but all he managed to voice was another shaky: “What?!”

“All the champions were called down to the Quidditch pitch last night to get details on the third task, and apparently, Harry and Viktor stayed behind to talk. And then they came across Mr Crouch, who seemed confused and kept talking to himself,” Hermione explained. “So Harry went up to the castle to get Dumbledore, but when they returned, Viktor had been stunned and Crouch was gone.”

“So Crouch stunned Viktor?” Draco asked, his brain slow to catch up with these sudden events. 

“Or someone stunned both of them and abducted Crouch,” Hermione replied. “Harry says Crouch did not seem in the state to attack anyone.”

“That’s…” Draco muttered, a shaky hand running through his hair, heart pounding in his chest. “ _ Damn,  _ Hermione, they could have both been  _ killed _ !”

“Crouch was saying some interesting things,” Hermione told him, a deep frown on her face. “Something about needing to warn Dumbledore, apparently. About Bertha Jorkins being dead, and something about his son. And that You-Know-Who was getting stronger.”

Draco took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he let it fall to his side again. 

“So he had information,” Draco said softly. “He had information about what was going on, and someone got rid of him before he was about to share it.”

“But who?” Hermione whispered, coming to a sudden halt and searching Draco’s eyes. “Who could be behind this, Draco?”

“Well, my guess is this,” Draco said, biting his lip. “Someone must have - I don’t know, kept Crouch away, maybe made him sick on purpose or locked him up. Maybe they used the Imperius Curse. But somehow Crouch got away and tried to ask Dumbledore for help, or warn him. And whoever kept Crouch under control must be the one behind all of this. Harry’s name in the fire, Bertha Jorkins, maybe even the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup… which means the list of suspects is rather short.” Draco held up his hand and started to tip them off: “Sirius said it was likely the person was up at the top box with us, and there were only a couple of people. We can exclude all of the Weasleys, us, my mother and Winky, which leaves my father, Bagman, the Minister and the Bulgarians, who I would like to exclude.”

“Your father, Bagman or the Minister?” Hermione frowned, considering Draco’s words. “Well, your father certainly has the motive, and Bagman has been behaving suspiciously…” She trailed off, and they fell into a thoughtful silence, which Draco ended by sighing deeply and rubbing his face. 

“They haven’t found Crouch?” he checked.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Hermione shrugged. 

“Well, Dumbledore should be on their case now, whoever it is,” Draco said, more confidently than he felt. “All that we can do now is try to make sure Harry stays alive through the Third Task and leave the rest to the responsible adults, as fourteen-year-olds should.” He met Hermione’s eyes, thrown by the hopeful expression on her face. “What?” he asked.

“You said ‘we’,” Hermione breathed. “Does that mean you’ll help us prepare Harry for the Third Task?”

Draco’s stomach fell. For a moment, he had forgotten that he was not speaking to Harry.

“It’s a maze,” Hermione told him eagerly. “He’s going to have to face all kind of magical creatures and other obstacles to get to the middle of the maze and retrieve the Triwizard Cup. Which means we’ll need to practice defensive and offensive spells so he’ll be able to defend himself. We could really use you in that.”

Draco gulped and looked out over the lake, not answering.

“Please, Draco,” Hermione muttered, stepping close and touching his shoulder. “You said it yourself. We need to keep Harry alive. Do you really think you could ever forgive himself if something happened to him and you’d refused to help him prepare?”

_ No _ , Draco thought to himself. He knew he’d never be happy again if Harry got hurt. Still… There appeared to be such a wide and deep abyss between him and Harry right now that it seemed impossible to overcome. 

“Think about it,” Hermione pleaded. “We’re going to start researching spells today. If you want to, you can join us in the library.”

Draco shrugged, and Hermione seemed to understand that he had no reply for her yet, because she let the subject drop.

 

“Are you okay?” Draco asked Viktor at lunch, studying his face. “Hermione told me what happened.”

“I vos shocked,” Viktor shrugged, frowning. “They say Durmstrang is a school of Dark Arts, but I vos never attacked before.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Draco scoffed, angrily piercing a potato with his fork. “Things just seem to happen around here.” When Viktor didn’t answer, Draco asked, almost casually: “What were you doing in the forest with Harry, anyway?”

Viktor’s dark eyes met his, and he seemed hesitant for a moment, just looking at Draco. Draco tried hard not to fidget or show in any other way how much this question had been eating away at him all day. 

Finally, Viktor said: “Potter asked to talk about you.”

“Me?” Draco repeated, taken aback. “Why?”

“Because I am your friend,” Viktor shrugged. “I think he hates that you spend time vith me but not vith him.” When Draco just gaped at him, he added: “He asked if you talked about him. And vot he should do to make you forgive him.”

“And here I thought he might have given up,” Draco muttered.

“I don’t think he vill,” Viktor mused. “He is vaiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Draco demanded, frustrated. “Nothing's changed, has it?!”

“Yes,” Viktor nodded. “Exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing has changed,” Viktor elaborated, lowering his voice. “You still love him, and you are scared that something vill happen to him. And that von’t go away.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m just going to forget what happened!” Draco hissed.

“No, but you see,” Viktor said. “You have to decide vot is more important. You can be angry that he does not love you back, or you can love him and be as close as you can.” When Draco had no ready answer for that, he continued: “Hermy-ninny does not love me. I know she does not.”

“That’s not-” Draco started to protest, but Viktor cut him off.

“I know,” He shook his head. “First I thought, if we spend more time together, but… It’s alright, though. I vill be near her as long as I can, and ven I have to go, I vill.”

“So… you can just accept it?” Draco asked, stunned. “That there’s a time limit on this, and that when you leave, she might find someone else and it’s over?”

“Vot should I do? Be angry and alone?” Viktor asked. “It vould be a vaste.”

“You are strong,” Draco muttered. “Stronger than me.”

“That’s not true,” Viktor frowned, shaking his head. “I made a decision. And you haff to make one, too. That is all.”

Draco stared at his plate unseeingly, his heart beating loudly in his chest, as if it, unlike him, knew that his decision had already been made.

 

“We’re going to use the Transfigurations classroom tomorrow morning to practice some spells we found,” Hermione told him as they sat down for Ancient Runes after a gruesome session of double Potions through which he’d had to share a table with Harry. “It’s Saturday, which means we should be undisturbed. Would you like to join us?”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Draco sighed, digging through his bag to find his book. 

“Please, Draco,” Hermione whispered. “Please think about it. It’s not even as much your knowledge or your intelligence that we need rather than…”

“What?” Draco asked, voice heavy.

“Well,” Hermione shrugged. “If you and Harry finally make up, he will have the strength to concentrate completely on the task at hand. His mind is on you more often than not these days. He’s miserable without you, and you know as well as I do that Harry doesn’t function well if he’s upset.”

“What a way to blackmail me,” Draco muttered.

“I’m not blackmailing you,” Hermione said indignantly. “I’m just telling it in a way that I hope will get to you. I know you care about him, and that you are worried. So you need to know what your behaviour is doing to him.”

“Ms Granger,” Professor Babbling’s loud voice cut through Hermione’s tirade, making them both look up. “I apologise for interrupting what seems to be a very important discussion,” she noted, sarcasm deep in her voice. “But do you think you could delay it until  _ after _ class?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said, flushed and embarrassed. “Sorry, Professor.”

Professor Babbling glared at both of them for a moment longer before telling them to open their books and starting class. 

 

Draco lay awake for most of the night, Viktor’s and Hermione’s and even Professor Lupin’s and Hagrid’s words repeating over and over in his head. He knew they were right, in a way. Ever since he had met Harry, that raven-haired, bespectacled boy had been the most important thing to Draco, and even after about two months apart, none of that had changed. He loved Harry, had probably always loved him, and the knowledge that Harry’s feelings weren’t as strong as his own wouldn’t change that in the future, either.

So what was he doing, keeping that distance between them, when he very well knew that Harry was in danger? Was he trying to punish Harry for not loving him back? He knew that he was selfish by nature, but he liked to think that he had left that part of himself in the past, along with his inbred prejudices and entitled arrogance. 

In the end, it was probably a matter of pride, he realised. He had given every part of himself to Harry, only to notice that Harry had not returned the favour, and so he had withdrawn himself completely. Going back on that decision now was harder than it should be.

He still had not made a decision when he went down to breakfast early the next morning, so he took a walk over the grounds when he was done eating. It wasn’t until he found himself in front of the Transfiguration classroom, listening to the voices of his friends inside, that he realised he never really had a choice on the matter. Or better, he had made his choice when he had decided to befriend Harry after reading the letter from his future self (something he had not thought about in a very long time), and now their paths had intertwined, they were not going to separate anymore. 

His hand reached for the doorknob and he opened it slowly, peeking inside. Harry, Hermione and Weasley were standing near McGonagall’s desk at the front of the room, some tables shoved aside and pillows spread on the floor. Hermione stood next to Harry with a book in hand and Harry had his wand pointed to Weasley, who’d positioned himself in front of the pillows. They’d all frozen at the sound of the door opening and were now staring at Draco in varying degrees of shock. Hermione looked so relieved that her eyes watered, and a smile was spreading over her face. Weasley’s mouth had fallen open and he was gaping at Draco as if he were the reincarnation of the Dark Lord. 

Harry, on the other hand, was very pale, eyes wide and almost afraid as he studied Draco’s face, as if the Slytherin was going to dissolve into thin air at any moment.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered, breaking the silence and the stillness by crossing the room to usher him inside. “I knew you’d come, I just knew it! We were just practising the Stunning Spell. Have you ever done it before?” 

“No,” Draco admitted, eyes still on Harry. “Is it hard?”

“Not very,” Hermione shrugged, offering Draco the book she was holding and leading him towards the other boys. “I think Harry pretty much already got the gist of it, he just needs a little more practice.”

Draco nodded, finally tearing his gaze away from deep green orbs and skimming the instructions. 

They fell back into movement easily, ignoring the erumpent in the room and continuing to practise the spell, right until Weasley started complaining that he was hurting from falling backwards all the time. Hermione and he argued for a while about the exact science of hitting the cushions when unconscious, and with a roll of his eyes, Draco interrupted them.

“Fine, let’s switch,” Draco grumbled, taking Weasley’s place and pushing him towards one of the discarded tables to sit down on. “Stun me for a while. I don’t mind.”

He looked up at Harry expectantly, frowning when Harry just stared at him uncomfortably, his wand still lowered at his side.

“What is it?” Draco demanded. “Go ahead!”

Harry just kept looking at him, fingers tightening and loosening around his wand until Hermione spoke up.

“Stun me,” she sighed. “Draco, you can check Harry’s spellwork.”

“But-” Draco started to protest, but he was manhandled away from the cushions immediately, Hermione ignoring his input completely, all business. 

“Go ahead, Harry,” she demanded. 

Harry’s face was flushed, but he raised his wand and cast the spell without any problems. Draco just stared at his profile, unsure how to interpret the fact that Harry was okay stunning everyone but him. 

When it was almost lunchtime and Harry had perfected both the Stunning Spell and the Shield Charm, Hermione suggested they take a break. 

“How about Ron and I take this book back to the library and pick up the other one we’ve seen yesterday,” she said casually. “You and Draco can clear up the mess we made. We will meet you in the Great Hall.”

Weasley was frowning and opening his mouth to protest, but Hermione silenced him with a glare and bodily pulled him out of the room. It took all of Draco’s self-control to not roll his eyes and call Hermione out on being terribly obvious. Even Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts would have been able to see through her. 

A heavy silence fell over Draco and Harry as the door closed behind Hermione and Weasley. Draco could not bring himself to look at the other boy, so he bent down to pick up the cushions that had been spread over the floor, carefully stacking and depositing them on one of the desks. He was about to get out his wand to rearrange the tables when Harry asked, in a voice so small that Draco almost didn’t understand him: “Are you talking to me again?”

Draco tensed. The silence stretched on until he took a deep breath, steeling himself before he turned to face Harry.

Green eyes met his, and the sensation went through Draco like a physical blast. It had been weeks since he’d allowed himself to really look at Harry. 

“I guess so,” Draco said finally, his voice raw and rough. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain control of himself.

His admission was met by silence, and then, Draco found himself enveloped in an embrace so tight that it knocked the breath out of him. Harry had his face pressed into his shoulder, and Draco absentmindedly noted that the difference in their heights had grown while they hadn’t been speaking. He had not realised, but now that Harry was pressed against him, it was obvious how much taller Draco was. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry breathed, and Draco was taken aback to note how watery his voice sounded. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Draco said awkwardly. 

“No, it’s not,” Harry argued, an edge to his voice. “I took you for granted. You were just _always_ there, always at my side, and I never realised how much that meant until you were gone. I thought you knew how important you were to me, and I did not understand that you were struggling until it was too late. I’m so sorry.”

Draco gulped down a breath of air, inhaling Harry’s scent, and it made his heart threaten to jump out of his chest in excitement. It was overwhelming, having Harry this close and hearing him say these things. It was so easy to drown in it. 

“I don’t know why it was Ron down in that lake,” Harry continued, his arms tightening around Draco’s waist. “But I know that fighting with you was much worse than fighting with him. I need you in my life, Draco. I swear I’ll never make you feel left out again, or like you have to  _ try _ in order to be my friend. And if you ever feel like that again, you can tell me and I’ll make it right, I promise.”

With a start, Draco realised that Harry was crying. He’d never seen Harry cry before. It was always Draco who burst into tears. It was that realisation more than his words that made Draco hug him back. One hand buried itself in the mess that was Harry’s hair, and the other wrapped around his trembling shoulders, holding him tight. 

“It’s okay,” Draco repeated, his voice thick. “It wasn’t your fault, really.”

“Yes, it was,” Harry argued. 

“No,” Draco sighed, resting his temple against the side of Harry’s head. “I let my insecurities get the better of me. You haven’t been a bad friend at all. I’m just…” Draco took a shaky breath, before continuing: “I’m selfish and jealous by nature. I try to not act on it because I don’t want you to hate me, but knowing that I’m not as important to you as you are to me… It was just too much.”

“Of course it was,” Harry said thickly. “But it’s my fault that you ever were that insecure to begin with. If you’d truly known how important you are to me, you wouldn’t have reacted that strongly.” When Draco didn’t answer, Harry pulled back to look at him. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his cheeks were wet from tears that had spilt over. “You are the best friend anyone could wish for,” Harry said with determination. “You are the most loyal person I’ve ever met, and you always think of me before you think of anyone else, even yourself. No one else does that, you know. Not like you do.” Draco’s throat closed up at his words, but before he could get a word in, Harry continued: “You say you’re selfish, but I know, without a doubt, that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect me. And it’s different from me or Ron or Hermione because you aren’t doing it for noble reasons, or for the greater good - you really care about me that much, and you don’t know how much that means to me. The only people to ever care about me like this were my parents. And I  _ know _ that, even though I never told you. I should have told you sooner. I just assumed you knew, and that was stupid.”

“Harry,” Draco whispered helplessly. Tears were threatening to fall from his eyes as well, and he knew that once he let them, a waterfall would follow.

“You said you needed to put a lot of effort into our friendship,” Harry continued. “And maybe that’s true. I never realised what it must have been like for you, not only because of your father but also because of your house. I thought I knew everything, but I think I never took the time to really understand what it meant for you. But please know that at this point of our friendship, you could refuse to ever help me again or never talk to me again, and you’d still mean the world to me. You don’t need to  _ try, _ Draco. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

These words were Draco’s undoing. A sob escaped his lips, and Harry pulled him back into their embrace, just holding onto Draco as they both cried. 

It was cathartic to just let the tears fall, as if all the pain from the past months was flowing out of him and washing away. When Draco surfaced what felt like hours later, he was able to breathe deeply again for what seemed to be the first time since February. He wiped his face with a tissue, smiling as Harry clumsily did the same with his hands and sleeve. 

“I’ve never seen you cry before,” Draco noted, his throat sore from all the tears. 

Harry shrugged helplessly, looking at him.

“So,” he whispered. “Are we okay again?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “We are.”

“Thank god,” Harry smiled, the upward curl of his lips tentative but sincere. 

He reached out his hand, and Draco took it, entwining their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, I realise a lot of readers hoped that this rift between Harry and Draco would hold a little longer and serve the purpose to move Draco's centre away from Harry a little, have him make new friends, withdraw himself emotionally, etc.. As you can probably tell after this emotional reunion, none of that is happening. The purpose of this fight was not for Draco to build more of a life outside of Harry - though I agree, it would be the more healthy alternative. The situation is such, though, that Draco cannot really allow himself such an emotional detachment, with the very real danger lurking right around the corner. No, the purpose of the fight was, from my perspective, an evolvement of their relationship, especially from Harry's perspective, and I think that will be made clear especially in the next instalment. So, even if you might not see the point of what happened here right now, I hope you will as the story moves along.


	12. A Question of Sanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Welcome back to what is already the second to last chapter of this instalment! (How did this pass by so fast?! D: I need to hurry writing the fifth, my god) A lot is happening in this chapter, and I hope you appreciate all the different topics that are addressed. 
> 
> Also, I realise I am slightly behind with answering to your comments from your last chapter. I'm trying to get around to it today after posting. Please be patient :)

Going back to being Harry’s friend felt like taking the first breath after having been underwater for too long. The feeling he had grown used to upon waking up, the dread of facing the day ahead, seemed to finally have dissipated. And when Harry waited for him in the Entrance Hall as Draco came up for breakfast, a bundle of sandwiches in hand and a hopeful smile on his face, Draco felt warmth flood his veins like liquid sunlight, allowing him to return the smile with ease. 

They walked the grounds as they ate their sandwiches, enjoying the fresh spring air and each other’s company. Harry talked like a dam had been broken, updating him on every little detail Draco might have missed in the last couple of months and then some more, eager to keep the conversation flowing and to not let any awkwardness resurface. And Draco was thankful for it. It felt familiar and normal and exactly what he needed. When they had finished their food and students were starting to file out of the castle, enjoying the warm Sunday morning, Harry sighed, admitting: “Hermione ordered me to the empty Charms classroom on the third floor for spell practice. But I wanted to at least spend a little while alone with you beforehand.”

“It was nice,” Draco agreed, throwing the rest of his sandwich into the lake for the squid to feast on. “I think we needed some time to acclimatise, so to speak.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “We need to do this more often. Spend time as the two of us, without Ron or Hermione around, I mean. Or Krum, for that matter.”

“Do you have a problem with Viktor?” Draco asked, frowning. 

“No,” Harry sighed. “It’s just… I spend all that time with Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table or in the common room, and you spend time with Krum at the Slytherin table, or with Hermione and him at the library… And I want that for us, too. Some time with you without any of them around.” He fell silent, and Draco waited, sensing that Harry wasn’t quite finished. When the other boy continued, his voice was very quiet. “It’s not that I dislike Krum,” he muttered. “I just hated feeling as though he took my place these last few weeks. I know that it was my fault, but I really hated it.”

“Viktor was a big help to me,” Draco frowned. “I appreciate the way he tried to understand what was going on inside me. But, Harry,” he forced himself to meet green eyes, to not flinch away from the contact. “There’s no way anyone could ever replace you. It’s just not possible.” When Harry nodded, Draco smiled, bumping the Gryffindor’s shoulder with his. “Though I certainly won’t complain about getting some attention,” he joked, making Harry laugh.

“Well, good,” Harry chuckled. “Because you’re stuck with me now. No more pulling away from me. I won’t allow it.”

“Consider me warned,” Draco grinned, leading their way back up to the castle.

 

“So,” Viktor said as he joined him at the Slytherin table for dinner, scanning his face. “Hermy-ninny said you and Potter made up.”

“We did,” Draco smiled. “Thanks for nudging me a little, by the way.”

“I did not do anything,” Viktor said quickly, but when Draco just grinned at him, he smiled back. “I am glad you are back to normal,” he shrugged, taking a bite of his chicken. 

“Was I really that bad?” Draco laughed, before wincing. “No, don’t answer that. I think I know.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, though,” Draco frowned, looking at him. “With the fourth task ahead, Hermione and I might be pretty tied up with Harry. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Viktor ensured him. “Hermy-ninny said she vill meet me in the library in the evenings. I haff to prepare for the tournament, too. I vill be okay,”

“Good,” Draco nodded. “I wouldn’t want you to think you’re cast aside because of Harry.”

“I think you should vorry more about him than me,” Viktor mused. “He does not seem to take ignorance vell.”

“You might be right with that,” Draco chuckled, looking over at the Gryffindor table, where Harry was nodding at something Hermione was telling him. As if feeling Draco’s eyes on him, he looked up and smiled as their gazes locked. Draco smiled back.

“Do you remember ven I told you about my friend Stoyan?” Viktor asked suddenly, snapping Draco out of it.

“Yes,” Draco frowned. “What about him?”

“Ven I noticed your feelings for Potter,” Viktor said quietly. “I compared you to them, and it vorried me. But I think I vos vrong. I am not vorried anymore.”

“Why?” Draco asked, confused.

“Because now I think Potter vill love you back, someday,” Viktor explained, eyes locked with Draco’s. “Maybe he already does, but he does not understand it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco muttered, willing himself not to blush, and most importantly, not to hope. “Harry is straight. He’s crushing on a girl. He’s not interested in me that way.”

“I think you are vrong,” Viktor shook his head. “Or he is, about his own feelings. But maybe you are both too young. I alvays forget you are only fourteen. You and Hermione seem older than you are.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel offended or praised,” Draco admitted, glowering half-heartedly. “We’re not  _ that _ much younger than you.”

“Four years are a lot, at our age,” Viktor laughed. “Let’s talk again ven you turn seventeen.”

“Fine,” Draco huffed. “I’ll remind you.”

“I look forward to it,” Viktor smirked, much too smug for Draco’s taste.

 

The next two weeks passed in a blur of spell practice for Harry’s task, revision for exams, actual exams and time stolen away from everyone else spent with Harry. The Gryffindor seemed to have made it his personal mission to take time off especially for Draco at least once every two days, and he took it very seriously, to the point where Hermione grew exasperated when they turned up late for practice sessions. Draco knew that he should not encourage Harry to slack off, but he couldn’t help it: He was fourteen years old and in love, and even though the object of his affections did not love him back the same way, he was not going to turn down his attention. If this was all he would get, he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

It was throughout the week of the third task that the reality of the danger started crashing down on Draco again, though, this time in the form of another prophetic dream of Harry’s. Harry was waiting for Draco in the Entrance Hall before breakfast Tuesday morning, and while Draco had grown used to that, the look on Harry’s face made him halt. 

“What happened?” he asked wearily. 

Harry sighed, gesturing towards the grounds. “Let’s talk.”

Harry then proceeded to tell him about the dream he’d had, about Pettigrew and Voldemort, and how Pettigrew had been punished with the Cruciatus Curse for a mistake he had apparently made. 

“Voldemort said that Wormtail was in luck,” Harry explained. “That his mistake hadn’t ruined everything, and that someone was dead. Therefore he wouldn’t be feeding Wormtail to his snake.”

“So instead he tortured him,” Draco muttered, frowning. “Did he say who is dead?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “But he said ‘he’, so it’s probably not Bertha Jorkins.”

“Crouch, then,” Draco said immediately. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Crouch escaped from whoever was keeping him under lock - apparently Wormtail - and someone retrieved him and killed him before he could talk.” He bit his lip, deep in thought, before he asked: “Did you tell anyone about this?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry nodded. “And I wrote to Sirius.”

“Good,” Draco said. “What did Dumbledore say?”

“He said…” Harry hesitated a moment, glancing at Draco, and it made his stomach swoop. If Harry was hesitant to tell him, it must be significant and worrying. “He said that I might be seeing the inside of Voldemort’s head. That the failed curse built some kind of connection between us, and that what I can see is really happening.”

Draco failed in his steps, freezing as he stared at Harry in horror. 

“He also said that Voldemort was likely getting stronger,” Harry admitted, sighing as if unwilling to continue. “That all these disappearances bear a resemblance to what happened the last time he came to power. Bertha Jorkins, Barty Crouch… and apparently, a muggle has been killed in the village Voldemort’s father used to live in. He thinks it’s all connected.”

“Of course he does,” Draco whispered, still staring at Harry. “I knew there was something weird about your dreams, but… how can you see the inside of Voldemort’s head? What kind of connection do you have to him?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Neither does Dumbledore, it seems. All he said was that my scar hurts not only when he’s near, but also when he feels particularly angry, or something along those lines.”

“But this is huge!” Draco insisted. “Is this some kind of Legilimency? Does it work both ways? Can the Dark Lord see what’s happening inside your head as well? If yes, you need to learn Occlumency, and quick!”

“I only understood half of what you just said,” Harry deadpanned.

“Legilimency is the art of reading minds,” Draco explained, forcing his racing heartbeat to slow and his mind to clear from panic. “It usually works only when two people are in direct vicinity, and eye contact is important. Not many people can do it, but it’s a skill you can learn. Occlumency is the defence against Legilimency. It allows you to close your mind off against attacks. It’s easier to learn than Legilimency. I can do it.”

“You can?” Harry asked, his eyes widening.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Mother taught me when I was a child. It’s about learning to control your emotions.”

“Can you teach me?” Harry asked.

“I dunno,” Draco muttered, considering. “I’ve never taught anyone, but I guess I can try? It might be difficult for you, though. You’ve always been very… impulsive.”

“I see,” Harry made a face. “Well, it might be worth a try? I certainly don’t want Voldemort in my head.”

“Obviously,” Draco scoffed. “I’ll look into it, okay? First, you have to get through that task tomorrow, and then we can focus on keeping the Dark Lord out of your head.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry nodded. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you. There is more.”

“More than an ominous mental connection you share with an evil madman?” Draco asked, an edge to his voice. “Do I need to sit down for this?”

“No,” Harry said, his lips twitching. “Nothing on that level. It’s just… I kind of, _ accidentally _ , saw some of Dumbledore’s memories.”

“How do you accidentally access someone’s memories?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowing. “Are you  _ sure _ you’re no Legilimens?”

“Quite sure,” Harry snorted. “No, he had this thing out. He called it a Pensieve?”

“Oh,” Draco nodded, understanding dawning on him. “So you saw the Pensieve and snooped around his memories? That’s pretty intrusive, Harry, even for you.”

“I didn’t know what it was!” Harry said defensively. “I was just  _ looking _ at it, and suddenly, I was pulled in and saw all these things!”

“Yeah, right,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. “Your curiosity will be the death of you someday, Harry, I swear.” When the other boy only glared at him in response, Draco asked: “So, what did you see? You wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t important.”

“I saw memories of Death Eater trials after the first war,” Harry told him, face growing serious again. “Of Karkaroff, and Bagman, three people called Lestrange, and Crouch’s son.”

“Okay, wait,” Draco protested, holding up a hand. “ _ Bagman?! _ A  _ Death Eater?!” _

“Apparently he was passing on information to a Death Eater. He said he believed he was on the side of the Ministry, and that he was tricked.”

“Well,” Draco frowned, tipping his head thoughtfully to one side. “Isn’t that interesting. He keeps trying to help you in the tournament, and now we find out he’s had connections to Death Eaters before.”

“I don’t know, Draco,” Harry frowned. “Bagman really doesn’t seem the type.”

“Did Quirrell seem the type?” Draco countered. “Or Pettigrew?”

“Well, no,” Harry admitted. “But still, he’s not the only one here at Hogwarts.”

“Karkaroff, yes,” Draco bit his lip. “He seems like the type indeed.”

“He got free because he traded information to the Ministry,” Harry remarked. “He revealed Crouch’s son as a Death Eater. And the Lestranges.”

“My dear relatives,” Draco said dryly. “Strange that Father still seems so fond of him. Then again, he’s free, too, so I’d be surprised if he hadn’t traded in information back then, too.”

“You’re related to these people?” Harry asked, his expression pained.

“Only Bellatrix is a blood relative,” Draco sighed. “She’s my aunt. Mother’s sister, and Sirius’ cousin.”

“Your mother’s sister,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

“Of course not,” Draco scoffed. “My aunt is insane.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, trying to hide a shiver. “It’s amazing how normal you turned out, considering your family.”

Draco’s thoughts flew to the letter he’d received at eleven, and the conscious choice he’d made, but he quickly pushed those memories away. That was a secret he was determined to take to the grave with him. 

“I guess,” he shrugged. “But we don’t have to worry about my aunt now. She’s locked away safely in Azkaban. Who we do need to worry about are Karkaroff, Bagman, and possibly my father. I still haven’t ruled him out.”

“I’ll make sure to run if they turn up in that maze,” Harry vowed, cracking a smile.

“Don’t joke about it,” Draco hissed. “This is the last task, and therefore the last chance for whoever is behind this to hurt you. We can’t take this lightly.”

“I’m not,” Harry promised, reaching out to entwine their fingers and squeezing. “I swear I’m not, Draco. I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be,” Draco muttered. “You can’t make me forgive you and then just disappear. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I told you, you’re stuck with me,” Harry snorted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll hold you to those words,” Draco said darkly, squeezing Harry’s fingers in return. 

 

As if Draco wasn’t already enough of a nervous wreck upon waking up on the day of the third task, Rita Skeeter decided to publish another article about Harry, both her most ridiculous and her worst so far. Draco was sitting at the Gryffindor table for a change, unable to stay away from Harry for too long, when the post owl arrived, bringing the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Hermione was the one to open the newspaper first, while Draco was still feeding Aquila some of his toast, and all eyes landed on her when she spit out her mouthful at pumpkin juice after one look at the front page. 

“What?” They all asked.

“Nothing,” Hermione muttered, too quickly, trying to hide the newspaper. Weasley grabbed it, though, and after reading the headline called an incredulous: “No way. Not today. That old  _ cow _ .”

Draco’d had enough of this at that point and picked up his own newspaper, unfolding it. Harry leaned into him, looking over his shoulder. They heard Hermione and Weasley protest weakly, but it was already too late. Both boys were silent as they read her newest malicious article, titled  _ “HARRY POTTER - ‘DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS’” _ . In it, Skeeter described Harry as mentally unstable and possibly dangerous, referring to his nightmares and complaints about pain originating from his curse scar as well as his ability to speak Parseltongue. 

“Who did she talk to?” Draco asked, furious. “How does she know any of this?” But with one look at the Slytherin table, where Nott was staging a very unlikely imitation of Harry, he shook his head and muttered: “Nevermind. I already know.”

Harry snorted and returned to his breakfast without comment. 

“I want to know how she manages to get information and interviews on what is happening at Hogwarts when she’s supposed to be banned from school grounds!” Hermione hissed through her teeth.  

“Well, you’ve been researching magical methods of bugging these past few weeks,” Harry pointed out mildly. “Haven’t you found out anything?”

“I have!” Hermione insisted. “But I… but…” she broke off, an unfocused look on her face, the one she always got when she had an intellectual breakthrough. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, watching as she raised her hand to her ear and started muttering to herself. She then proceeded to excuse herself to the library, leaving the three of them staring after her in puzzlement. 

“Well,” Draco shrugged, turning to the other two. “I have to leave. Charms exam.”

“Me too,” Weasley sighed. “History of Magic. What are you going to do, Harry? Read again?”

“S’pose so,” Harry said, rather unenthused, but then Professor McGonagall called him over, and Draco took that as his cue to leave. 

When he returned to the Great Hall for lunch, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Molly and Bill Weasley, who had apparently come to support Harry in the tournament, along with the families of each of the other champions. He could see Diggory surrounded by his parents at the Hufflepuff table, and Fleur with her parents and sister at the Ravenclaw one. Viktor was sitting at their usual place at the Slytherin table, in deep conversation with his own parents. He looked up and their eyes met, and he waved Draco over. Draco turned to look at the Gryffindor table, where Mrs Weasley had already spotted him and was gesturing for him to join them. Draco smiled at her and mouthed “One moment” before he walked over to the Slytherin table. 

“Draco,” Viktor smiled at him when he reached his side. “I von’t keep you, I just vanted to introduce you to my parents. They haff been asking about you.” He then turned to speak to his parents in Bulgarian, and Draco could barely make out his own name before the Krums were standing and shaking his hand with a warmth and enthusiasm that took Draco a little off guard. Both of Viktor's parents’ English was very limited, so he had to translate for them, but from the gist Draco got, the other boy had been writing to them about him and Hermione. Viktor’s mother, a lady with silky black hair and kind brown eyes, pressed a package of baked goods into his hands, talking to him in Bulgarian until her son shushed her. Viktor’s father was a tall man that looked very much like his son, and he was shaking Draco’s hand and tried to communicate with him through single phrase patches like “Thank you” and “Viktor friend” or “come to Bulgaria summer”. After about two minutes of that, Viktor cut his parents off and sent Draco over to the Gryffindor table. 

“They are vaiting,” he muttered, nodding over to where Draco caught Harry watching him before quickly immersing himself back into his conversation with the Weasleys. “Go.”

“Good luck, Viktor,” Draco said seriously, touching his shoulder for a moment. “Watch out for yourself, will you?”

“I vill be fine,” Viktor shrugged, smiling. “Go vorry about Potter.”

Draco chuckled and shook the hands of Viktor’s parents one more time before walking over to the Gryffindor table and taking a seat between Ginny and Hermione. He noted that Hermione, too, had a package of Bulgarian pastries on her lap. 

“Draco,” Mrs Weasley smiled at him warmly, and Bill reached out to shake his hand. “How was your exam, dear?” 

“Alright,” Draco shrugged. “I haven’t been able to concentrate much on exams this year, though, so I’m not sure I’ll do as well as I should.”

“Understandable,” Mrs Weasley nodded, her expression kind. 

He spent lunchtime in pleasurable conversation with his friends and the Weasleys, and as Draco watched Harry laugh and be remarkably comfortable in spite of the task ahead of him later today, it dawned on Draco what both Hagrid and Hermione had been trying to tell him after the second task.  _ This _ was what Harry would have missed the most, this ticket into a family that accepted him as their own, even without blood relation. Weasley did indeed come as a package deal, one that Draco couldn’t offer. And rather than the feeling of pain and unfair treatment he’d battled with when people had first tried to tell him this, he now felt understanding settling inside of him. 

It wasn’t  _ him _ . It wasn’t that Weasley was worth more than he was, per se. 

After his Transfigurations exam throughout the afternoon, he joined the Gryffindor table again for the evening feast, though he could feel Snape’s displeased glare on him. Draco did not care, though. Harry was sitting at his side, close enough that their arms brushed every time they moved, and it helped reign in the lump of dread in Draco’s stomach that was growing progressively bigger the closer the task came. 

When finally, the champions were sent down to the Quidditch pitch, accompanied by Bagman, Draco hugged Harry so tightly that the other boy’s breath hitched. 

“I’ll be okay,” he promised. “We’ve done everything we can. I’m prepared. I can do this.”

“Be careful, though,” Draco whispered. “We know that there might be things happening that are out of everyone’s control. As soon as anything strange happens, run. I don’t care if it costs you the cup. I just want you out of there alive.”

“I know you do,” Harry said, smiling as he gently freed himself from Draco’s death grip. “And, for what it’s worth, you make me want to not be competitive or reckless.”

“I think that’s the best I can hope for,” Draco sighed, squeezing Harry’s arms once more before letting go of him and allowing Mrs Weasley to fuss over him. 

Not long after the champions had left, the rest of the Great Hall followed them down the path towards the Quidditch pitch. The stands filled, and Draco found himself once more with the Gryffindors, kneading his hands in a nervous gesture and looking out over the large hedges of the maze. He noted that, though the stands of the pitch were taller than the hedges, the shadows prevented them from seeing anything happening inside of them. Draco swore. So this was another task they wouldn’t be able to follow as it happened. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bagman’s voice sounded across the stadium, making everyone perk up. “The third and the final task of the Triwizard tournament is about to begin!” Draco’s eyes wandered to the small clearing at the entrance to the maze, where the jury table was located. Harry was standing among the other champions. He watched him as Bagman rehashed the current rankings of the tournament and explained the basics of the third task. Only when Bagman turned towards the champions did Draco zone in again.

“So,” he called. “On my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three - two - one -” 

With the sound of the whistle, Harry and Diggory ran for the entrance of the maze and disappeared out of their sight, quite to Draco’s despair. Hermione reached out to grasp Draco’s hand, and he held on, thankful for the comfort.

Viktor was sent into the maze a minute after, and Delacour was sent last, another minute later. After all the champions were gone, the cheers of the crowd died and subdued into quiet chatters. 

“Honestly,” Weasley complained. “They could have at least thought of something to let us watch what is going on within the maze.”

“They didn’t for the second task, either,” Draco shrugged.  _ Not that you’d know _ , he thought bitterly, but refrained from saying it. 

“So all we do is wait?” Hermione asked, sounding distressed.

“Yes,” Draco sighed, his heart beating painfully in his chest. “All we do is wait.”


	13. The Horrible Answer To The Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm here to bring you the last chapter of the fourth instalment! I'm a little sad because this is my fave book ending and the fifth book is far from my fave (mainly because it's really dark and emo), but I will try my best to make the next instalment just as interesting as this one! :D 
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for the overwhelming support I received throughout this instalment - it really blew me away and I love you all to pieces!!

Time crawled along as the champions faced who knew what in the midst of the maze, driving Draco completely insane with nerves and worry. At least this time, he wasn’t the only one losing his wits on the stands: Hermione was squeezing his hand so tightly that, after a while, he lost all feeling in his fingers, and Mrs Weasley kept nervously checking her watch and mumbling redundant updates to everyone who’d listen: “Twenty minutes since the last champion entered the maze...”, “twenty-four minutes…”, “thirty-three minutes, shouldn’t be long now…”

Two times, Draco’s heart almost stopped when red sparks appeared up in the air as a sign that one of the champions was in trouble. The first time, it was Delacour, and the second time, much to both Draco and Hermione’s shock, Viktor. Both champions looked incredibly shaky as the teachers led them out of the maze and back to their families. Draco spent a long time watching the way Viktor’s mother was stroking calming circles across his back while their friend stared into space, very much out of it. 

After Viktor had forfeited, nothing happened for a very,  _ very _ long time. Too long for Draco’s liking. 

“Only Harry and Diggory left now,” Weasley muttered after a while, frustration evident in his voice. “Shouldn’t that speed things up?”

“Not necessarily,” Hermione shook her head. “If anything, fewer champions to fight whatever creatures they have to face within might slow the process down. And even if only one champion is left, they can still get lost and walk in circles for hours.”

“Not to mention that we have no way of knowing if they are alright,” Draco noted, his voice tight. “For all we know, they might have been attacked by something and had no chance to send up red sparks for help.”

“Don’t say that!” Hermione hissed, her fingernails digging into his palm. 

Draco couldn’t help it, though - when an entire hour had passed without any sign of either Harry or Diggory, Draco became more and more sure that something must have happened. And the behaviour from the staff seemed to confirm his suspicions. At one point, Karkaroff suddenly jumped up, his face ghostly pale and horror-struck. He hissed something at Dumbledore before taking off and disappearing from sight.

He did not return. 

Soon, Snape appeared at the jury table, demanding to speak to the Headmaster. They, too, backed around a corner to talk, and when Dumbledore came back, his face was deadly serious. Draco stared at him, willing him to make an announcement, to tell them what was happening, but he just shook his head at Bagman and Maxime and took his seat again. 

It wasn’t until two hours after Harry had first entered the maze that he reappeared. There was a loud noise, and then he was  _ there _ , right in front of the jury table, lying in the grass, unmoving. He was clutching the Triwizard Cup in one hand, and Diggory’s arm in the other.

They were both lying very still. Too still. 

Next to him, Hermione gasped, jumping to her feet. Weasley was yelling. But Draco stayed where he was, frozen, knowing immediately that something was wrong.

There were voices everywhere. The staff was hurrying over to the two champions, Dumbledore the quickest despite his age, and soon, they were standing in their view.

“What happened?!” Hermione demanded. “Are they alright?! Are they hurt?!”

Then, there were screams and cries, and Draco heard words that made his blood run cold.

“Diggory’s dead!”

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. His head was buzzing, and he was trembling violently as he got to his feet.

“Harry,” he whispered. 

He couldn’t see Harry. Everyone was pressing closer to where they had appeared, blocking him from view, and he wanted to move, wanted to push through until he could make sure that his friend was alive, but Bill stood in his way, holding him back with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t go there now,” he told all of them - because both Hermione and Weasley had started to move as well, looking as frantic as he felt.

“But, Harry-”

“They will take care of him.”

But Draco barely heard him. There was white noise in his ears. He saw Diggory’s parents pushing through the crowds, saw McGonagall and Snape trying to gain control of what was threatening to become a mass panic, saw Dumbledore shouting orders at people… And Draco couldn’t breathe, because he couldn’t  _ see _ Harry. Hermione was clinging to him, and there were tears running down her cheeks, both from desperation and frustration. Weasley was arguing with his brother, and Mrs Weasley was saying something, but Draco couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t  _ think _ .

_ He needed to get to Harry. _

This was torture worse than anything he had ever experienced. 

 

Later, Draco did not remember most of what had happened in the hours after. No one had seemed available to talk to them, and Mrs Weasley had asked everyone she could get her hands on about Harry, but no one had had a ready answer for them.

They'd ended up going to the hospital wing to demand answers from Madam Pomfrey, who'd seemed shaky but tight-lipped and grew exceedingly exasperated with their questions the longer they bothered her with them. Moody was sleeping in a bed nearby, looking absolutely horrifying, and Draco had no idea how he’d ended up there. Despite his dislike for the teacher, Draco had to admit that anything that could roughen him up like that was terrifying to think about.  _ What _ had happened tonight?!

Then,  _ finally _ , the door opened, revealing Dumbledore, Harry and Sirius in dog form. The Headmaster had his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and his friend looked absolutely dreadful. His sickly pale skin was streaked with mud and sweat, and his green eyes were bloodshot and empty. 

Mrs Weasley started towards them, but Dumbledore stopped her, asking them to refrain from questioning Harry.

“What he needs now is sleep, peace and quiet,” Dumbledore told them. “If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so.”

Of course, they stayed. 

Madam Pomfrey led Harry to one of the free beds, and they gave him a moment of privacy to change his clothes. Then they gathered around his bed. Draco claimed a chair on his left side, where he could reach out to entwine their fingers. Harry squeezed back in acknowledgement.

“I’m alright,” he told them, but his words were slow and he sounded completely wrung out. “Just tired.”

Mrs Weasley stood to Harry’s right, smoothing his covers with tears in her eyes, but no one spoke until Madam Pomfrey returned and handed Harry a potion for Dreamless Sleep. He drifted off immediately after he’d drunk it, leaving all of them to stare at his unconscious form in silence.

“What the bloody hell happened to him?” Weasley whispered.

“I’m sure Dumbledore will let us know in time,” Bill said simply. 

They did find out rather soon. It wasn’t even an hour later that yells sounded from the corridors, breaking the oppressive silence among them. 

“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!” Mrs Weasley hissed indignantly.

“What are they shouting about?” Hermione breathed, gnawing on her lower lip. “Nothing else can have happened, can it?”

Draco noted that Harry moved ever so slightly, and his whole attention was on him immediately. The other boy’s eyes opened, and he blinked slowly, blearily staring into the direction of Bill and Mrs Weasley. The latter was just getting to her feet, peeking around the privacy screen to investigate.

“That’s Fudge’s voice,” she whispered. “And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?”

The voices were getting closer, and soon, they were able to pick up words.

“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva -”

“You should never have brought it inside the castle! When Dumbledore finds out -”

Then the door to the hospital wing burst open, revealing the Minister and the Professors McGonagall and Snape. Bill pulled back the screens. Harry sat up, reaching out for his glasses. Draco handed them to him. 

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded, addressing Mrs Weasley. 

“He’s not here,” she returned angrily. “This is a hospital wing, Minister, don’t you think you’d do better to -”

But then the door swung open again, revealing the Headmaster himself.

“What has happened?” he asked, his sharp blue eyes flitting between Fudge and McGonagall. “Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you - I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch -”

Draco had only a moment to be confused over the mention of Crouch’s name - was he alive, after all? - when McGonagall shrieked, positively trembling with fury: “There is no need to stand guard anymore, Dumbledore! The Minister has seen to that!”

“When we told Mr Fudge that we caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight’s events,” Snape explained, his voice low and cold. “He seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him to the castle. He brought it up to the office here Barty Crouch -”

“I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!” McGonagall interrupted. “I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but -”

“My dear woman!” bellowed Fudge. “As Minister for Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous -”

But McGonagall did not let him finish. She turned to Dumbledore instead and raised her voice even more to drown out the Minister’s protests.

“The moment that - that thing entered the room, it swooped down on Crouch and - and -”

She did not finish the sentence, but her intention was clear. The Dementor’s Kiss. Draco let out a shaky breath. He had no idea what was happening and what exactly Barty Crouch had done to cause all of this, but it seemed like he was worse than dead now. 

“By all accounts, he is no loss!” Fudge yelled. “It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!”

“But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,” Dumbledore pointed out, his voice calm but dangerous. “He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people.”

“Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it? He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who’s instructions!”

“Lord Voldemort  _ was _ giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore confirmed, and Draco felt cold all over. “Those people’s deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.”

For a moment, there was dead silence. Draco felt like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes travelled back to Harry, but the other boy was staring at Fudge, not paying any attention to him.

Draco heard the following discussion as if through an underwater barrier. It seemed they were talking about Crouch’s son, who had been smuggled out of Azkaban by his parents and had returned to the Dark Lord’s side this past year. Together, they’d constructed a plan to capture Harry by turning the Triwizard Cup into a portkey to transport him someplace where he was forced to take part in the Dark Lord’s rebirth.

Which had, apparently, been successful. The Dark Lord was back. 

Sweet Merlin.

Fudge, though, seemed unwilling to take Dumbledore’s words at face value. 

“You are prepared to believe,” he started, a strange smile on his face. “that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the words of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who… well…”

Fury broke through Draco’s shock, and he was ready to shout at the Minister himself when Harry said, very quietly: “You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge.”

Everyone whirled around to look at him. Fudge's skin turned an ugly shade of red and angled himself away from Harry, towards Dumbledore.

“So what if I have?” he called defiantly. “If I have discovered that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place -”

“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” Dumbledore returned, his voice cold. 

“You admit that he has been having these pains, then?” Fudge prodded triumphantly. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly - hallucinations?” 

“Listen to me, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, determined and grim. “Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”

Fudge was shaking his head and backing away from Dumbledore. “You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before…”

“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed, but Mrs Weasley pushed him back down. “I saw the Death Eaters. I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy -”

Draco flinched, turning to face away from Harry. 

“Malfoy was cleared!” Fudge called, affronted. “A very old family - you're best friends with his son! How dare you -”

“Macnair,” Harry continued. 

“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”

“Avery - Nott - Crabbe - Goyle -”

“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” Fudge interrupted him. “You could have found those names in old reports of trials! For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore,” he turned back to the Headmaster. “The boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year, too - his tales are getting taller, and you’re swallowing them - the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?” 

“You fool!” McGonagall cried. “Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the work of a random lunatic!”

“I see no evidence to the contrary!” Fudge shouted. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”

Draco understood then why Fudge was fighting the idea of Voldemort’s return so vehemently. He saw it as a threat to his legacy as a politician, as well as his comfortable life and stable position of power. Draco had always known that Fudge was driven - there was a reason he got along as well with his father, after all - but denying danger in the face of facts… That was something else entirely. 

Dumbledore and Fudge kept arguing, but Draco was unable to focus. The Dark Lord was really back, and his father had been there. 

What did this mean for him and his mother? Could he even return to the Manor this summer? What about Harry? His friend would be in constant danger now. Maybe they should leave the country together. But was there really any place safe when the Dark Lord was back?

“If your determination to shut your eyes will take you as far as this, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “we have reached a parting of ways. You must act as you see fit. And I - I shall act as I see fit.”

Draco looked up to see Fudge glare at Dumbledore with incredulity and not just a little fear. 

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said. “I’ve given you free reign, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students, without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going to work against me -”

“The only one against whom I intend to work is Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore interrupted, his tone polite but firm. “If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

There was another tensed silence, until Fudge pleaded, the fear finally showing in his voice: “He can’t be back, Dumbledore. He just can’t be…”

Draco did not expect it when Snape stepped forward. His Head of House had kept quiet through most of the exchange, but now he was pulling up the left sleeve of his robes and thrusting his lower arm at Fudge to look at. Draco could not see what he was showing him, but Fudge recoiled visibly. 

“There,” he spat. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was, an hour or so ago when it burnt black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burnt into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, to his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s, too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. Draco had never seen the Mark on his father, but he must have it, too. He must have felt it tonight and have apparated to the Dark Lord’s side. All without thinking of Draco, while knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was placing himself on the opposite side of his son in an upcoming war. 

Fudge, meanwhile, was backing away from Snape and shaking his head. “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore,” he said. “but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.” 

He made for the door, but then stopped and turned back to draw a bag of gold out of his pocket. He dropped it onto Harry’s bedside table.

“Your winnings,” he said shortly. “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but in the circumstances…”

With that, he turned and left. The moment the door swung closed behind him, Dumbledore addressed the adults among them, giving orders and dispersing the crowd. Bill left to notify his father, McGonagall to fetch Hagrid and Madame Maxime and bring them to Dumbledore's office, and Madame Pomfrey to take care of Winky the house elf. When they had left, he asked Sirius to reveal himself to Mrs Weasley and Snape. Mrs Weasley screamed in fear as the dog that had quietly spent the last hour among them turned into the ruffled form of Sirius Black. His cousin was as thin and shabby-looking as when he had last seen him almost exactly a year ago.

There was a tense moment in which Dumbledore demanded Snape and Sirius to make peace with each other and forced them to shake hands. Then, he sent Sirius off to contact Professor Lupin and a lot of other people Draco didn’t know. Harry, though, seemed distressed the moment it became clear that Sirius was to leave. Draco balled his fists and looked at his knees as Sirius directed a few comforting words to his godson. He felt the need to reach out for Harry, but he knew it wasn’t Draco’s touch his friend was craving right now. 

After Sirius had left, Dumbledore had one last, more ominous message for Snape that Draco could not quite decipher from the mere words, causing his Head of House to take off as well, with Dumbledore following shortly after, ordering Harry to take the rest of his potion. 

This left only him, Harry, Hermione, Weasley, his mother and the still unconscious Mad-Eye Moody in the room. The silence between them was loaded, but Mrs Weasley took it upon herself to return to Harry’s side and reach for the bottle on his bedside table.

“You have a good long sleep,” she said gently. “Try and think about something else for a while… Think about what you’re going to buy with your winnings!”

“I don’t want that gold,” Harry replied flatly. “You have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn't have won. It should have been Cedric’s.”

These words seemed to tear something within Harry open, and suddenly, he was blinking back tears. Mrs Weasley put the bottle bag down to pull him into a motherly hug. Draco turned away, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. 

This was killing him. Seeing Harry suffer like this and being unable to do anything for him was the worst. He felt so inadequate and useless. What did it say about him that he could do absolutely nothing to make the boy he loved feel better?

A loud, slamming noise tore Draco from his thoughts. Hermione had moved past Draco towards the window, and her hands were curved around something, cradling it firmly to her chest.

“Sorry,” she whispered, flushing.

“Your potion, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, and when Draco finally dared to turn back around, Harry had drifted off to sleep. He took a shaky breath and fell back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered - to himself, to everyone, and to no one. 

“Why are you apologising?” Weasley asked, his voice rough and raw. He cleared his throat once.

“My father was there,” Draco breathed, hot tears spilling from his eyes and hitting his palms. 

“You knew where he stood, Draco,” Hermione said softly.

“This is different,” he insisted. “He actually went  _ back _ . Merlin. What if he uses me to get to Harry? What if being near me puts him in danger?”

“Mate,” Weasley said, sounding alarmed. “I’m pretty sure you’re in more direct danger with a Death Eater in your home than Harry is.”

“Ronald,” Mrs Weasley scolded, and Draco had not even seen her move but then she was across the room, wrapping him up into her arms the same way she had done to Harry moments ago. Somehow, it made Draco cry even harder. “Don’t worry, Draco, dear,” she said softly. “It’s going to be okay. You are not alone in this. You have Dumbledore to protect you if necessary, and you can always come to us when things spiral out of control. And I’ve only met your mother a couple of times, but I’m sure she’s not going to let your father drag you into this war. She will do whatever it takes to keep you safe because that’s what a mother does.”

Draco couldn’t form words, couldn’t stop his tears, and Mrs Weasley continued patting his back and hugging him as if he was one of her own children.

 

The next couple of days were the most depressing ones Draco had ever lived through at this school, and he had experienced the opening of the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. Dumbledore had spoken to the students the morning after the final task, but he had given them very little actual information. The students were still confused and subdued, and rumours spread through the school like wildfire.

The atmosphere in the Slytherin quarters was the strangest, though. There was fear tangible in the air, mixed with something completely unexpected: excitement. Maybe Draco shouldn’t have been surprised. Slytherin housed a lot of Death Eater children like him, and he was the only one who had taken a clear stance against his father’s values. Most of the other students stood loyal to their parents, and this new shift was probably something they perceived as a victory. And then there were students like Pansy Parkinson, who were looking at Draco like they were dying to interrogate him for anything that would quench their fear and tell them all the rumours were baseless.

Harry was very quiet once he was released from the hospital wing. He did not speak to them about what had happened in that maze, and they did not ask. Instead, they spent all their time together and away from other people, effectively building a wall around themselves that made everyone shy away. Draco knew that some of them believed Skeeter’s claim that Harry was dangerous, and for once, it suited them perfectly. The fewer people prying in on their business, the better. The only exception to that rule was Viktor, who Hermione had talked to the very next day and who joined them every once in a while, joining in on their comfortable silence. It was like they were warded off from the rest of the world. Not even Nott bothered being nasty to him.

At the end of year feast, Dumbledore finally revealed the truth about the Dark Lord’s return to the rest of the school. Draco was unsure how much weight his words had, though, and he assumed Dumbledore knew that it might be difficult to convince everyone. The Minister of Magic still stood firm in his stance against him, and while Dumbledore might have a good standing with some of the parents, he doubted all of them would take his word over the Ministry’s. And the children usually followed their parents. 

Leaving Hogwarts this time around was harder than it had ever been. The goodbyes were more heartfelt than usual, as if everyone was afraid to never see each other again. 

“You know you are velcome to Bulgaria any time,” Viktor told him when he clapped Draco's shoulder. “If you need somevere to go, I am there. Potter, too.”

“Thank you,” Draco smiled sadly. “But I wouldn’t want to put you in danger. I’m not exactly the safest person to house at these times.”

“I don’t care,” Viktor told him firmly. “You are my friend. If you need me, I am there.”

“Thank you,” Draco said again. “I’ll keep it in mind. And I’ll let you know how things are going via owl, I promise.”

“Good,” Viktor nodded, squeezing his shoulder.

The train ride back to London was very subdued, despite Hermione’s revelation that she had identified Rita Skeeter as an unregistered Animagus in the form of a beetle and captured her, extracting a promise for a one-year-silence from her in return for her freedom once they reached London. Draco was impressed by Hermione’s success in actually finding out Skeeter’s secret and reminded himself not to get on the wrong side of her  _ ever _ in his life. Her determination was a fearsome thing to behold. Still, the prospect of what was expecting for him at the end of the ride made him feel like he was the insect trapped in a tiny bowl of glass rather than the nasty, bespectacled reporter.

Draco’s mother was waiting for him at King’s Cross when they arrived, and she pulled him into a tight hug the moment she saw him. Draco could tell from the way she held him that she  _ knew _ . Not that this surprised him, exactly. His mother was observant and this was a big thing for his father to hide. 

“Are we really going back to the Manor?” he asked, so quietly that only she could hear him.

She kissed his cheek and pulled away to meet his eyes.

“For now,” she said softly. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because we have to give him a chance, darling.”

“He had his chance,” he shook his head. “Various chances, to be exact, and he’s made his choice.” 

“You’re too young,” she sighed. “You don’t know what it was like, so you wouldn’t understand. But please, Draco, trust me. I haven’t given up hope yet. You don’t need to believe in him, but please, believe in me.”

“Of course I do,” Draco gave in, frowning. “But promise that we’ll leave if you are wrong.”

“I promise,” she nodded, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut, darling.”

“I like my hair long,” he shrugged, sending her a small smile. She snorted but stepped back to give him some space.

When it was time to say goodbye to Harry for the summer, the other boy hugged him so tightly that it took Draco’s breath away.

“Please watch out for yourself,” Harry whispered. “I hate knowing that you’re going back to live with  _ him _ .”

“So do I,” Draco admitted. “But Mother is there, and she won’t let anything happened to me.”

“Write to me at least once a week,” Harry told him. “I’m serious. I need to know that you are okay.”

“I will,” Draco promised, pulling away to smile at him. “And the same is true vice versa. I’ll go insane if I don’t hear from you regularly.”

“Noted,” Harry nodded, smiling back. “Looks like Hedwig and Aquila will have lots to do this summer.”

“They’ll deal,” Draco chuckled. “It’s only a little over two months.”

“Two months,” Harry repeated. “It sounds like an eternity.”

“If you get too bored, I’ll break you out and we’ll go to Bulgaria,” Draco joked. “I know somewhere we can stay.”

Harry laughed at that, and finally let go of him.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. 


End file.
